The thrill is gone
Saul Bolton settles for competence at his new Brooklyn Museum digs
Back in the Stone Age of 1999, a crazy-brave chef named Saul Bolton opened a fine-dining spot in the wilds of Cobble Hill and named it after himself.
Low on glitz, Saul carried an electric charge. Bolton’s quiet mastery made you feel something important was happening in that little storefront on pre-hip Smith St.
Fast-forward to 2014. Practically an elder statesman, Bolton is ruling sleek new digs at the Brooklyn Museum. His eye for detail’s still there, his provisions as pristine as ever. But that spark you felt on Smith St. has gone, replaced by the cold, museum-curator’s eye for perfection.
An amuse of sorrel leaf sprinkled with crunchy quinoa in ginger-maple reduction sets the tone: Deceptively casual, it’s a witty little palate-warmer that cleverly harmonizes flavors and colors. But it’s a “hmm,” not a “Wow!”
Likewise, there’s no eureka moment in a starter of cured Atlantic mackerel ($14), with impeccable cubes of firm fish, crunchy half-moons of puffed rice and tingly ponzu and scallion. It’s beautifully plated, but conveys more professionalism than passion.
Charred Spanish octopus ($16) comes perfectly cooked with just enough chew; it makes a splendid-looking composition with carefully scattered white beans, pink diced speck and ruby-colored tomato marmalade. It’s tasteful and polite, which you can get in Manhattan.
Maybe that’s the point of Bolton’s cooking now, when Brooklyn’s younger chefs do cartwheels to distract diners with the attention spans of fruit flies. Bolton’s never been a showoff, and now that he’s managing the museum’s café along with the restaurant, there’s a degree of personality missing.
Yes, Vermont pork three ways ($32) delivers primal pleasures with a juicy chop, lush pork-belly cube and tiny blob of earthy kidney, but the plate has a by-the-numbers feel. Yes, the dry-aged squab ($32) is part of a faultless palette that includes the bloody bird, rust-colored roasted carrots, tart white yogurt and sepia bulgur, but somehow it forms a less-than-satisfying whole.
The voltage flows again with desserts. All peaks and points, Bolton’s signature Baked Alaska ($15) looks like a Bushwick gallery sculpture. Light and luscious, it tweaks a classic, wrapping frozen passion-fruit parfait inside meringue atop a vanilla cookie on a bed of coconut tapioca. Chocolate & Chocolate ($13) cuts cocoa overload by slicing kumquats into a gorgeous, elongated tableau of chocolate pastry cream, Devil’s food cake and chocolate sorbet.
Dinner ends with a thoughtful sendoff: Two tiny pink peanut butter and jelly macarons with lime-salted pineapple jelly candies — “upper-echelon Chuckles,” the maître d’ joked.
The witty, homespun and totally Brooklyn touch added humor and humanity to a perfectly competent meal that could have used a little more of both.