By Jude Waterston
There are some streets in Manhattan whose name you’ve heard but can’t quite place their location. If stopped and asked for directions to Suffolk Street, I probably would’ve steered the person to Tribeca or the financial district downtown. Most likely I would not have ventured there myself had I not been given the business card of a young, attractive and gregarious Israeli chef, David Shemesh, who was picking up an order of handmade, cut-to-order fettuccine from the 104-year old pasta shop in which I work.
Lots of neighborhood chefs come in person to Raffetto’s to claim their order of a few pounds of noodles, and often, they pass along their calling cards and invite one or another of the employees to stop in and try their fare. Mostly we slip the cards into our pockets and eventually they get lost. But recently I had plans to go out to dinner with a long-time family friend and my sister, Janet, and I wanted to try something new and different. I found David’s card in my pocketbook and Googled the restaurant, Antibes Bistro (112 Suffolk Street, between Delancey and Rivington Streets) on the Lower East Side. Now, to be honest, Antibes, the restaurant’s namesake, is another one of those locations that I can’t quite put my finger on. So I looked it up. Oh, yeah, of course, Antibes, on the Cote d’azur of the French Riviera, is a spectacularly beautiful seaside town.
The restaurant’s website was sophisticated and inviting. It read, “The cuisine of the Southeastern French resort town, Antibes, is influenced by a unique mixture of French and Mediterranean cultures. Spices such as sumac, coriander, fennel and cardamom add essence to the creation of the menu…”
I scanned the menu and found myself impressed by the complex choices and, particularly, at the descriptions of each dish’s accompaniments. It’s always a good sign when I study the choices of entrees and find it difficult to decide which appeals to me more—chicken under brick with truffle potato puree, haricots verts, and chicken jus or Guinness braised short ribs with potato gratin, spinach, shallot confit, and braising reduction.
Suffolk Street wasn’t so difficult to find after all, though had I not been paying attention I might’ve found myself heading onto the footpath of the Williamsburg Bridge. The “F” train stops at Delancey Street and the restaurant is a mere two blocks away. I immediately took to the ambience and design of the large, airy room. A feeling of intimacy emanates, and there is a cozy warmth in the rustic exposed wooden beams and brick walls on one side of the room. On the other, the walls are white-washed and evocative of a farm house. A few beautiful cut-glass antique mirrors adorn the room.
A row of copper pots hangs over the entrance to the small kitchen, which is partially visible from the dining room. The lighting is soft and innovative—long, slim rods ending in small cone-shaped lamps cast a dim light over a small bar, which is manned by David’s partner, Eyal Tov, and throughout the room, rustic iron and wood chandeliers suspended from the ceiling look like they’ve been salvaged from a medieval castle. Tiny square votive candles twinkle on the tables, and tall glass vases filled with river stones hold delicate dried flower arrangements. Most important, the background music is just that—a cool, unobtrusive, mellow blend of music from another era, perhaps the thirties or forties.
After deciding to share three appetizers and two entrees, we mulled over our choices while the waitress filled our glasses with a fruity white wine. Should we have four appetizers, which all sounded so interesting (with the exception of a special of the night, a carrot soup) and just one entrée? After a bit more deliberation, we ordered truffled roasted asparagus with assorted mushrooms, shaved Parmesan, and herb salad; marinated scallops with cucumber, mint, caviar, and citrus segments; and a field greens salad of tear drop tomatoes, kohlrabi, fennel, and fine herbs in a citrus vinaigrette to begin the meal.
The appetizers were beautifully composed. It was clear that special attention was paid to presentation as well as flavor. The roasted asparagus spears, scented with truffle oil, were cut into 2-inch lengths and mingled with the wild mushrooms atop a mixture of delicate greens capped with ultra-thin shards of Parmesan. The marinated scallops were actually a ceviche of the sweet shellfish marinated in citrus. The portions were small, but we were each able to get a mouthful or two of the clean and briny combination of flavors. The salad of field greens and assorted vegetables covered the plate and was a nice foil, as were the scallops, for the rich earthiness of the asparagus and mushroom dish.
My fellow diners would have liked to try the butternut squash ravioli with brown butter sauce, fried sage, and aged Parmesan, but I nixed the idea of any pasta since I am steeped in it all week long at work. It turned out to be unavailable anyway, which made me feel a little less guilty. Instead, we opted for the wild mushroom risotto laced with wilted spinach and slivers of roasted peppers, truffle oil, and Parmigianno-Reggiano; and an order of pan-seared tuna on a bed of saffron parsnip puree encircled by artichoke hearts and caramelized leeks.
I was surprised to see that the tuna steak wasn’t presented artfully pre-sliced as it is in most restaurants, and yet it was perfectly cooked. The savory accompaniments gave the dish a homey touch. As for the risotto, so often too dry or overly wet, it was soothingly creamy with the consistency of each rice kernel identifiable, neither mushy nor too tough. I would have preferred it if the infused oils and emulsions garnishing the dishes were bolder in flavor and used in more abundance. They added visual appeal without really giving the jolt of spiciness or depth one expects from such flourishes.
Though it was David’s one day off of the week, he happened in to the restaurant, as he lives in the neighborhood and can’t seem to stay away. He graciously asked if we’d had dessert yet, and I could tell from the gleam in his eye that a treat might be sent our way. After he left, we asked Eyal to recommend a sweet ending to our meal. He asked if we were familiar with halvah, the popular Middle Eastern confection made from tahini (ground sesame seed paste) often mixed with nuts and sometimes cloaked in dark chocolate. When we nodded assent, he said the halva kattaifi, layered with espresso mascarpone and halva threads with pomegranate molasses was the dish to have. We ordered espressos, and they arrived along with the striking looking dessert as well as an offering of vanilla bean panna cotta with poached pears in Pinot Noir syrup.
I have to say the oblong log of panna cotta was not as flan-like or custardy in consistency as I like, but the dark purple-stained winy pears with which it was served were deeply flavorful and visually arresting. The halva kattaifi was one of the most unusual and inventive desserts any of us had ever had. There was a brilliant contrast between layers of crunch and creaminess which were topped by an ample mound of shaved halva threads which melted in the mouth like cotton candy.
I left the restaurant knowing I’d return to try the dishes I couldn’t get to sample in one visit and found myself there the following Wednesday, along with a friend I knew would be up for sharing a variety of dishes. A wonderful surprise greeted us soon after we were seated. In place of piped in music, there was a delightful trio consisting of a stand-up bass player, a saxophonist, and a guitar playing chanteuse who had a way with the hip and smooth jazzy songs.
Again, oddly enough, one of the two appetizer specials was carrot soup and the waitress apologized that the butternut squash ravioli was unavailable, as well as the assorted handmade ice creams on the dessert menu, which had also been missing in action the week before. The entrée special of the evening was a whole (bone-in) crispy dorade (sea bream). Jeffrey and I chose to split the slow-baked Atlantic salmon with cauliflower puree, ratatouille, phyllo crisp, and harissa emulsion after sharing the truffle roasted asparagus; lamb boulettes with roasted eggplant, toasted pine nuts, green tahini, and harissa oil; and duck pate with caramelized pear, port reduction, and aged balsamic.
The asparagus was again ethereal and the duck “pate” was actually rillettes: a preparation originally made with pork, rabbit and game birds, the meat is cubed or chopped, salted and cooked slowly in fat until it is tender enough to be shredded, and then cooled with enough of the fat to form a paste. Herbs and cognac are added to the mixture, and it is usually used as a spread on toast. Ours were creatively presented on wedges of sautéed pear scattered with paper-thin slices of crisp radish. They were utterly delicious.
The lamb boulettes, however, were a disappointment; I felt the application could’ve been bolder. The little oblong ground meat patties would have benefited from stronger seasoning. Where were the spices, such as cumin, coriander, or something like Syrian Aleppo pepper, which would’ve added zest? And the bland puree of eggplant did little to elevate the dish. The green tahini and harissa oil were indiscernible. On the other hand, the salmon with ratatouille was a stunning study of taste and texture. The ever-so-slightly pink interior of the firm fish was moist and rich-tasting, and the mound of zucchini, eggplant, and halved cherry tomatoes garnished with an ultra thin phyllo dough crisp, were extremely tasty. The puddle of cauliflower puree on which the salmon sat could’ve had more oomph, but otherwise the dish was flawless.
Overall, the food was a success and the atmosphere of the restaurant a definite draw, though I can’t say I expected to return just one week later, again on a Wednesday, to celebrate the birthday of a friend, Scott, along with his partner, David, and my sister, Janet. I knew these boys were hearty eaters, so I suggested we split a bunch of appetizers before each ordering our own entrée. Our table was soon filled with platters, plates, and bowls. We ordered a bottle of wine and began to peruse the menu as the trio of musicians up front launched into the first number.
I was happily surprised to find the ravioli and ice cream assortment had been removed from the menu; the ravioli replaced with the dorade that I had missed trying previously. Unfortunately, that nagging carrot soup was yet again offered as the soup of the day. A special appetizer of beautiful heads-on, in the shell, jumbo shrimp packed a load of rich, briny flavor. As the menu is not extensive, I found myself revisiting a few dishes, but one could not find fault with the truffle-roasted asparagus, velvety wild mushroom risotto, or duck pate. A visually stunning layered appetizer of beet and goat cheese with beet sauce, crushed walnuts, and herb salad was dense and meaty.
My friend David was crazy about his entrée of Atlantic salmon as was Janet of her crisp-skinned chicken under brick with rich truffled potato puree and slender green haricot verts. Scott had the Guinness braised short ribs, which were not as rich and succulent as he anticipated, and I had the whole dorade, grilled and served simply with lemon slices. It was a bit of challenge to eat, as it was not de-boned, but the delicate white flesh was succulent and juicy. The accompanying simple presentation of baby carrots cried out to be glazed, though they were perfectly cooked. Dessert was on the house, once again. The halva kattaifi was sublime and a wonderful banana and chocolate mousse with praline cream and a hazelnut biscuit elicited exclamations from all of us.
Antibes bistro has been open just a little over a year and is still finding its legs. Though the portions are small for the most part, the prices reflect the size. The appetizers average around $8 and no entrée exceeds $18, which is pretty unusual for a place of this caliber. I’ve just about eaten through the entire short menu but am more than willing to make my way back to Suffolk Street in the hopes that the offerings will change with the seasons and reflect what is new and exciting at the market. David Shemesh is a talented and original chef. If he will be brave enough to up the spice quotient just a bit, I think I’ll be returning with great expectations to that just slightly out of the way location soon.
Roasted Asparagus and Mushroom Salad (adapted from Antibes bistro)
Serves 8
If you cannot find white asparagus it is fine to use all green.
For asparagus and mushrooms:
¼ cup plus 1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil
1 large garlic clove, minced
½ pound cremini mushrooms
½ pound shitake mushrooms
½ pound oyster mushrooms
1 pound green asparagus, thin to medium size
1 pound white asparagus, thin to medium size
1 tablespoon coriander seeds, cracked in a mortar and pestle but not ground into a powder
Salt and freshly ground pepper
2 ounces Parmigiano-Reggiano
½ to 1 teaspoon white or black truffle oil
Whisk together vinaigrette ingredients and set aside. Preheat oven to 425 degrees. Meanwhile, snap off woody ends of asparagus and place trimmed asparagus on 2 jelly roll or rimmed cookie sheets. Drizzle with ¼ cup extra-virgin olive oil. Sprinkle with crushed coriander seeds and season with salt and pepper. Set aside. Remove stems from shitake and cremini mushrooms and trim away dense, clumpy parts of oyster mushrooms. Slice mushrooms. You should have approximately ¾ to 1 pound of cleaned mushrooms. Place asparagus in the oven and roast for 12 to 15 minutes, changing and turning racks mid-way and tossing asparagus with a wooden spoon or tongs. Meanwhile, in a large sauté pan, heat butter and remaining 1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil over medium-high flame. Add mushrooms and minced garlic and sauté, stirring, for about 10 minutes. Season with salt and pepper.
Remove asparagus from oven and slice spears on the diagonal into 3-inch lengths. Toss the salad greens with the lemon mustard vinaigrette and taste for seasoning. Place equal amounts of greens on eight salad plates. Top with equal amounts of asparagus and then mushrooms. Using a vegetable peeler, slice the Parmigiano-Reggiano into thin shards and top each salad with an equal amount of cheese. Finally, drizzle each serving with a few drops of truffle oil. Serve immediately.
10 ounces (2/3 pound mixed baby greens)
Lemon mustard vinaigrette:
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
2 tablespoons white wine vinegar
1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
1 teaspoon honey
7 – 8 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
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