Karl Wells
A five-course meal with the Reluctant Chef.
Reluctant Chef 281 Duckworth St. St. John’s Phone 754-6011
It was ungodly cold outside. The main door of the Reluctant Chef stubbornly refused to close. I gave up trying to shut it, despite feeling guilty about allowing the expensive heat of the restaurant to be sucked out by hoary old Jack Frost.
I mentioned the temperamental barrier to the servers. Their lack of concern seemed odd, but when I learned the restaurant would be moving, I put it down to the “it will soon be somebody else’s problem” school of thinking.
According to owner, Tony Butt, the Reluctant Chef will eventually move across the street to what was Victoria Station (corner of Cathedral and Duckworth). It’s been so long since I was in that building I couldn’t tell you whether it will be an improvement or not. One thing I am certain of is that the kitchen will be bigger. I know for a fact that the kitchen at the current Reluctant Chef is the smallest in the city.
I hope the music moves across the road as well. The blend of jazzy sax, piano, flute and vibraphone tunes was perfect dining room fare. Well, if it’s a quiet meal with conversation that you’re looking for. Hearing the much loved title song from “Two for the Road” by Henry Mancini did my heart good. If ever a tune was meant for piano interpretation it was “Two for the Road.”
Reluctant listener
Our server was an earnest guy who described himself as not the sommelier but one who had learned much from the sommelier (Scott Cowan). He offered to do the wine pairing for our meal, at an extra cost of $70 per person. We passed and I am glad we did. I soon realized having been exposed, by our close proximity to tables that had bought in, that the wine pairing option meant having to endure long-winded talks about the history of each wine and the region from which it came. (Please, aspiring sommeliers, save the wine lectures for a lecture hall or lower your volume.) I just wanted to enjoy my food, my wine and some quality time with my spouse.
Butt is the reluctant chef of the restaurant’s name. The last time I wrote about the Reluctant Chef, Butt was the chef. His reluctance for cheffing has been borne out by a decision, months ago, to turn over the reins of the kitchen to chef Mike Boyd. Other personnel changes included hiring the certified sommelier, Scott Cowan, and servers who (obviously) take their roles very seriously. (By the way, our server was brilliant. I just didn’t appreciate being so exposed to his incessant wine talk.)
Cowan changes the wines-bythe-glass list weekly. All are advertised as being “food friendly.” That’s subjective, of course. It depends on the food and the individual palate, doesn’t it? We went with a Mondavi Fumé Blanc and a Tempranillo.
Bread and butter is about as good a way to start a meal as you will find, if the bread is exquisite. We relished a sliced brown loaf that tasted like it had come straight from the oven. The soft, nutty bread was enriched by hoppy notes from Tankhouse Ale. Fresh butter suffused with honey made the slices taste even better.
No menu was offered at the Reluctant Chef. Boyd shops for the day and creates a five-course menu from what he finds at the market. Although changes can be made to accommodate some food allergies and dietary nonos, you are pretty much stuck with what’s on offer.
If you’re an omnivore, like me, you will appreciate this approach since it ensures that everything served is made from the freshest ingredients. It also saves you the trouble of deciding what to choose from a long list of options.
Opening the evening was a dish of pan-seared yellow fin tuna served with a few pieces of cold orecchiette pasta, fried capers, pickled celery and aioli. It was a well-balanced mixture of textures and tastes, and if you like a meaty tasting piece of cooked tuna, then yellow fin is it. The only thing that left me cold was the cold orecchiette pasta. It was physically flat, and flat in terms of taste. Doughy, dense and unpleasantly chewy. Some cold pasta is good, but this was not.
Boyd’s poached cod in vichyssoise was simply lovely. I found the creamy liquid slightly ocean scented, rich and silky. At the centre of the shallow bowl were small pieces of fresh cod, strewn with petals of amaranth and two delicate corn shoots. The fish had been treated with the respect it deserved. It was perfection.
The wine suggested for the vichyssoise was the Mondavi Fumé Blanc. It was too heavy for such a lightly weighted course. Rather than support and enhance the dish the citrusy, oaky white overpowered it into insignificance.
A moose and veal pot pie in a small ramekin followed. Even though the pie was described as containing root vegetables, top billing was definitely given to the moose and veal part of the equation. I saw cubed vegetables and gravy but only a few strands of moose or veal. In spite of a lack of meat in what I assumed to be a meat pie, the flavours were absolutely on the mark.
Sliced duck breast fanned onto the plate with pommes duchesse, edamame beans and carrot made our last savoury course. It was a straightforward, competently cooked affair. One twist I thought clever was utilizing the staple British spread, Marmite, to coat the outside of the duck before cooking.
It imparted a delicious smoky flavour to mimic what might have been achieved from actual grilling, without running the risk of overcooking the duck at grilling temperature. Marmite gives a lift to soups and stews as well. The salty, dark, thick, yeasty mixture (concentrated brewer’s yeast) has been much maligned (because of its “love it or hate it” taste), but it does have its uses. It has lots of B vitamins and folic acid. Marmite on toast helped keep the Brits going during the Second World War.
Repast’s denouement came in the form of a slice of Newfoundland cranberry frangipane tart with cranberry and lemon infused cornmeal on cranberry and licorice syrup. It was easily one of the night’s big hits. Rarely do I find a dessert that suits my palate perfectly but this one did. I don’t care for last courses that are overly sweet. This tart had mild sweetness, tang and texture, all applied with even-handedness.
Eventually, the restaurant known as the Reluctant Chef will find the same kind of balance. Perhaps the move to a different space (when it happens) will help. I left feeling the night, overall, was just shy of an exceptional experience, but it was excellent nonetheless.
Rating: *** Price: Dinner for two with wine, tax and tip costs $240 (approximately). Service: Friendly, knowledgeable. Atmosphere: Cosy, intimate. Sound level: Moderate. Open: Dinner from 5 p.m. to 9 p.m. Tuesday to Saturday, and Sunday from 6 p.m. to 9 p.m.
Reservations: Accepted. Wines: The Reluctant Chef’s weekly wines-by-the-glass list is respectable and contains two whites, two reds and one sparkling wine. A three or five ounce pour is available. The main list is a very thoughtful, surprisingly robust compilation of wines from around the world.
Wheelchair access: No accessible entrance, accessible tables, no accessible restrooms.
* Fair * * Good ** * Excellent **** Exceptional