There's something about the long, cold winter that calls for escape – if not to a warm, sunny beach, then somewhere cozy and cosseting without the cost of that plane ticket to Phuket. It's been a time to avoid thinking about traffic jams and school closings and what footing is like on the front walk, but instead focus on something distracting, maybe a little challenging. For some people, that might be Bartok. For people like me, it can be great food, the sort that makes you think, as well as just grunt in pleasure.
And so it was off to Niche for a first visit since their move to Clayton. It's roomy, modernish without being industrial, the acoustics are good and the light is excellent without being glaring. Gerard Craft's kitchen crew works in an open area to the rear – I didn't see the maestro himself the night we were there – and the dining room is in the capable hands of Matt McGuire. (It's an open fact that Pollacks have known McGuires since back in the late Renaissance.)
The Niche style has always been forward-looking, one of the reasons Craft has attracted national attention, and so the newcomer must understand that this isn't your run-of-the-mousse food. Yes, they're serious about local ingredients. But there's technique here that intrigues, innovation that surprises and a balance of flavors that brings to mind the Thai idea of a mixture of sweet, sour, salty and hot. Not Asian seasonings, understand me. But lots of things going on at the same time. It's not quite like Paul Prudhomme's memorable phrase, "Flavors playing pinball in your mouth", it's more subtle, but it's that sort of thing.
We paid too much attention to the snack section of the menu, which meant no dessert, but it was worth it. Kicking things off were coxinha. Don't try pronouncing it. It's Portuguese, the name of a Brazilian dish that's marble-sized nuggets of cream cheese and chicken deep fried and poised in a green mayonnaise tart with sorrel. Pleasant and interesting, but easily the closest to the same old stuff we came all evening. Then came cheese bread, balls of gooeyness, moist, not at all like the Italian restaurant standby, because of the cheese incorporated into the dough, which lent its moistness. It perched on a board with some prosciutto, pickles of several sorts, all housemade, and whipped lardo. Lardo? Looks white, tastes rather like spreadable bacon. Addictive. Then there was the egg. That's all it's called on the menu: Egg. About the top third has been removed with surgical precision. Inside were layers, tender custard flavored with maple, wafer-thin slices of sauteed mushroom and a topping of caviar. I'm always delighted when something that doesn't sound so great is a pleasure, and that's what this is. The maple was definitely there but not more than a whisper of sweetness, the caviar a little salty, the mushroom more texture and a faint deep note of woodsiness.
Unbidden, some tea arrived. Tea? Proper tea cups, shallow-bowled, with a thin, glistening slice of lemon in the bottom. "There's some bacon grease in there," cheerfully announced our server, and then poured pale oak-steeped hot water. Smoky, woody, slight notes of acidity, fruit and salt – it was the liquid equivalent of holding cold hands in front of a crackling fire. It may have been the most remarkable thing of the meal. Maybe.
Chicken liver arrived as a napoleon. Using the idea that foie gras is often accompanied by something sweet, the riff begins with a light spreading of strawberry preserves on a crunchy layer that's too thin and brittle to be the brioche mentioned on the menu, continues on with the crunch of peanuts, homage to PB & J, obviously, then the rich, creamy liver mousse under another crisp layer that tastes of celery. Flying-saucer-shaped ravioli nestled in a pork broth, the filling ricotta, and a delicate, transient anise-like flavor of chervil wafting across the tongue.
Somewhere in here arrived a palate cleanser of freezer pops, a twist on sorbet, in tubes the size of an index finger and arriving in a bowl of lemons and celery. The pops themselves were, of course, flavored with lemon and celery, savory rather than sweet, the crunchy, quickly melting ice adding another element.
Smoked pork, pulled, fork-tender, redolent of hickory, rested on a bed of polenta, glistening leaves of brussels sprouts sprawling next to it, along with a handful of candied pecans and a hazelnut ice cream.
Slices of more-flavorful-than-usual beef tenderloin were paired with chunks of roasted Jerusalem artichoke, chestnut, pear slices and sunflower seed brittle. And the lamb plate featured slices of rare leg, a sort of confit of lamb shoulder, carrots cooked with cumin, a yogurt drizzle and crumbles of carrot cake.
Many of these dishes carry some sweetness with them. All have an element of surprise, the reason this is a journey into the unexpected. It's remarkable food. And the service, while lacking any element of surprise whatever, which is a very good thing, is pleasant and without a hint of condescension. And at these prices – a $95 chef's tasting menu, four courses for $65 – some might be ready for a little Attitude. And speaking of prices, things are also available a la carte, too, no more of prix-fixe as the only options.
This is, quite simply, exciting food. There's nothing ho-hum about it, and I hope it attracts folks who pay attention to what's on their plates and in their mouth.
Niche
7734 Forsyth Blvd., Clayton
314-773-7755
Dinner Tues.-Sat.
Credit cards: Yes
Wheelchair access: Good
Smoking: No
Entrees: $32
Comments
2 responses
Sounds delightful! Want to go when we come home!
This is at the top of my list for places to eat in STL. Looks great!