A pleasant throwback
Stellar service and well-considered details make La Table on Post Oak feel both of the moment and classic
“This menu is boring,” I announced glumly to my two dinner companions at La Table, the successor restaurant to Philippe on Post Oak. I had scanned the terse dish listings quickly — “chicken paillard;” “hanger steak;” “burrata mozzarella and tomato” — with the sinking sense that I had eaten it all before.
Yet once the food began arriving at our linen-clad table in the formal upstairs dining room, I settled into a calm, surprised pleasure at how exactingly everything was done. Though the menu would not have been out of place at your better grade of country club, the execution had a quiet elegance and assurance to it that seldom wavered during my various visits.
A glossy lobster bisque, that old-school French warhorse, rang with the deep, oceanic vibrato of many simmered lobster shells. “Colossal lump crab salad” turned out to be a stunning crown-shaped affair of sweet crab, lush avocado and bracing wafers of radish, all outlined by a gracefully balanced sweet/tart citrus vinaigrette. Lovely stuff, made Houston-friendly with a glimmer of cilantro and a spark of jalapeño. Even the bread basket earned my admiration, for the chewy mini baguettes and seeded wheat rolls that are made in house and served with good butter that is not straight from the refrigerator. Scores of such well-considered details make a meal here feel like you’re dining in some well-ordered cocoon, where domes are whisked off dishes in concert, vast acreage stretches out between tables and the wine advice is as sound as the wine service. At its best, the French-in-spirit food itself seems to exist inside some Platonic bubble: The kitchen can turn a simple potato purée into a buttery, thrilling event; make simple flatbread exciting; and inject dark magic into chocolate soufflé that ranks among the best desserts in the city.
La Table’s executive chef, Manuel Pucha, was Philippe Schmit’s first lieutenant when the restaurant opened in 2011 as
Philippe. Pucha stayed on during a wanly received reincarnation as the allAmerican Table on Post Oak and now seems to have hit his stride under a classic French remake by Invest Hospitality, an investment and management firm that has provided services to such high-flying venues as Atelier de Joël Robuchon in New York and Miami.
For La Table — now pronounced “lah tahbleh” in the French style — the company has instituted a multi-part concept that is very much of the moment, with a casual cafe, a bar and a gleaming, capable bakery downstairs while upstairs — grandly dubbed “Château” — has been reconfigured into a pale and plushly upholstered formal dining room and spaces for private events.
In between lies an ad hoc bookstore selling massive coffee-table tomes from Assouline, whose titles range from $50 to … well, you don’t want to know. These imposing volumes form a décor element all their own, and, I am sorry to say, establish a sort of “you can’t afford this” vibe that doesn’t really apply to the restaurant parts of the equation.
Indeed, the downstairs “Marché” operation offers everything from pristine, affordable breakfasts featuring house-baked kouglofs (an Alsatian-inspired pastry); to lunches of beautifully made Croque Madame sandwiches or salade Niçoise; to happy hours specializing in a variety of champagne-based cocktails and jewellike flatbreads. (The flatbread of raw sushi-grade tuna, in particular, is a marvel, from its thin, crisp base to its translucent sheet of satiny fish.)
A number of the pricey entrees served upstairs can be had downstairs in half portions, for half the price, including an excellent seared yellowfin tuna accessorized Niçoise fashion, with green beans, olives and frisky lemon preserves.
But upstairs or down, expect beautiful plating, unusually smart wine advice and layers upon layers of courtly service, of a type rarely experienced in this ever-more-casual dining era. Warmth and welcome are part of the equation, and as detail oriented as the service can be, it doesn’t feel stuffy. Rather, it’s a gentle reminder of an all-butlost world of fine dining.
Upstairs or down, too, I found that I could pretty much order without fear. I may have liked some dishes better than others, but over three visits I didn’t encounter a single one I disliked, a rarity.
A striped bass catch of the day was seared on the flattop (a la plancha, as the menu has it) and came with a spirited grain mustard and yuzu vinaigrette, for an effect both simple and eloquent at once. The fish was done just a shade more than I prefer, but it did not miss by much.
Spring-pea-and-ricotta ravioli in a foamy bath of Parmesan broth were all gentle persuasion. So was trembly soufflé of Comté cheese, soft and delicate in its pool of Parmesanlaced asparagus veloute. No swagger, just quiet suavity.
A heritage free-range chicken for two, the upstairs restaurant’s tableside showpiece, survived what I was told was a seven-hour roasting in fine, juicy form, its sticky rendered skin daubed with pinot noir for a delicious effect. From the tableside carving — graciously portioned out for three instead of two — to the winy burgundy sauce and roasted vegetable sides, that chicken was an old-school joy.
My only quibble? Don’t bill the white button mushrooms involved as “wild mushrooms.” They work well in context and need no marketing.
Even the salads outdid their modest concepts. Roasted beet salad sounds pretty humdrum these days, but when the earthy roots are as variegated as a rainbow, and when they contrast with local Blue Heron Farm goat yogurt and goat cheese, edged with blood-orangeinfused olive oil, the dish becomes an event. So, in its pared-down way, does an unexpected and seriously refreshing combo of marinated cucumber strips over rich slices of avocado.
Lamb chops and steak frites may speak to the country-club demographic here, but they are nicely done: the chops rich and herby, properly medium rare; the steak sliced and gleefully chewy, with a bouncy Béarnaise sauce and crisp twiggy fries that I enjoyed despite their slightly cottony interiors.
There are some worthy desserts, notably a graceful apple tart on a crisp, layered pastry base and an ingratiating mini baked Alaska, its peaks of scorched meringue sheltering a vivid foundation of house-made raspberry ice cream.
But it is the baked-toorder chocolate soufflé that is not to be missed. Order it at the start of your meal, or at least 25 to 30 minutes before you want it brought to the table. Made with deep, dark, bittersweet 70 percent Valrhona chocolate, this is not one of those hugely showy poufs that’s more air and razzmatazz than flavor. From its crisped surface to its interior ooze, this soufflé is pure intensity.
With a couple of scoops of the terrific house-made vanilla ice cream plopped in the middle, the soufflé is destination-worthy. It’s served downstairs as well as upstairs. And when my companion begged for a little more vanilla ice cream, a couple of fresh scoops materialized with an “of course!”
That’s the brand of service that animates this exceedingly pleasant throwback of a restaurant. Dining at La Table can feel a bit like attending a fine-dining theme park of a very finetuned, subtle kind. I find myself glad there’s still a place for that in this loud, messy world.