You know, with a little Crest, one can really rid oneself of this problem. Ooh, the ‘e’ makes all the difference apparently. Rather than terrible dental plaque, the French have stamped this word with some sort of culinary meaning. I always thought it meant “raw,” but I definitely got something from this joint that was cooked to some degree. It’s a bit of false advertising really, but the fancy French-sounding name gives the place a touch of class. The cleanliness and brightness of the joint also give it a hint of the gourmet. The help, who are either very well trained, or are the desperate owners, are constantly pushing new items that they want you to try (most likely as a gauge to “smash” or “trash.”) In fact, the place might even be too frilly for the neighborhood, which is more of a bodega, OTB, fast food chain kind of area. Their little white boxes for your haricoverts are just too much, and although it gives the food more of an air of importance, string beans are still just string beans–even if they are skinny and French. We had the zucchini loaf, which was made with some sort of parmesan cheese and caramelized onions and whatnot, and was cold and not so great. The sandwiches are tasty, but overpriced for what they are. Overall, the joint is just too precious, and would be a better fit up on Madison Ave next to some lady’s shop that sells those plaid suits with the big shoulder pads and the giant gold brooch attached to the lapel. If I owned a poodle, and he ate sandwiches and sides by the ounce, this would be his kind of place. [MF]
653 9th Ave.
212/333-5300