MAJOR RIP-OFF!
Fancy French restaurant Majorelle serves up three courses of mediocrity
MAJORELLE is Manhattan’s prettiest and plushest new restaurant in a long time, a blessed relief from today’s hard-edged industrial dining rooms that make shattered eardrums part of the “fun.”
But with a $110 threecourse French meal ranging from borderline awful to just OK, Majorelle is also the city’s most overpriced restaurant in a long time. Oy, flambé.
With beloved former La Grenouille frontman Charles Masson running the show and four-star chef Christian Delouvrier originally at the stove, long-hyped Majorelle was supposed to give the fabulous frog of East 52nd Street a run for its freeflowing money.
Granted, superflush patrons drop plenty more at rarefied places around town — but usually for a zillion-course tasting. Majorelle, which debuted this spring after years of construction in several rooms at the Lowell Hotel on East 63rd Street, offers little value.
Never mind that New York isn’t hurting for great French restaurants. In addition to classic La Grenouille, we have modern (Le Bernardin, Jean-Georges, Daniel, Gabriel Kreuther) and what might be called New Wave-traditional (Le Coucou, Le Coq Rico). Where Majorelle fits into this Gallic pantheon is exactly nowhere.
So what does your money buy? At Majorelle, it’s mediocrity — starting with a miserly baby radish meant to serve as an amuse-bouche.
Most Manhattan prix-fixe restaurants lay on lots of complimentary extras. But Majorelle’s “three courses” means exactly three (the tiny radish being the one extra). Nevertheless, Majorelle has been bustling with big spenders most nights (and is sure to be during afternoons, too, once lunch service begins on Tuesday).
On multiple visits, no loudmouthed Eurotrash were in sight. Here, dressed-up ladies and gents create an oddly subdued mood, just like in the fancy dining room in “Scarface” before Al Pacino’s “Say good night to the bad guy” meltdown. I want Majorelle to be great. Sentimental slob that I am, I initially fell for the plush main dining room, framed in marble columns, etched mirrors and cushioned banquettes.
Like La Grenouille, Majorelle is decorated with flowers. But the similarity ends there. Toque turmoil has ruled this kitchen. Delouvrier turned out to be a mere “consultant.” Le Bernardin veteran Giovanni Beneduci quickly vanished. Chef Mario Fortuna will soon be gone, too, a rep confirms, with plans to stay
only “until lunch is up and running.” In a weird typo that was fixed only this week, the restaurant’s Web site identified executive chef Richard Brower as David Brower.
Whoever was actually cooking, Majorelle launched in March with a Moroccaninfluenced a la carte menu. Though it fell short of evoking Ouarzazate, it was almost tolerably affordable with $38 pasta.
The switch to prix fixe came a month later. All of a sudden, the $90 meal I had ballooned in price to $110. A recent meal for two, which included three moderately priced glasses of wine and one ineptly mixed Aperol spritz, came to $386.45 with tax and tip.
Goujonettes de sole “Murat” — battered and fried sole fritters — are the No. 1 worst dish at any price I’ve had this year. The sandpaperlike fish strips, strewn messily atop artichokes and potatoes, would embarrass a Coney Island boardwalk stand. The server who removed my half-finished plate gamely smiled and said, “It is always wise to leave a little room for dessert.”
During another visit, al dente tagliatelle with clams and rich pesto made a fine appetizer — until you realized you were paying perhaps $35 for it.
The kitchen turned out thick, juicy, rosemary-scented lamb chops and tender, orange-kissed duck magret. But, again, we’re talking nearly $400 for a two-person meal that would show more originality and cost $100 less at Upland or Aureole.
Thanks to Masson’s guiding hand, everyone is welcoming. But the service can feel rushed. One night, staff snatched away our bland saffron risotto before we’d finished.
I’m finished with Majorelle — at least until they bring back a la carte and fix the kitchen.