This just in: The ornate, baronial Villard Mansion wing of the New York Palace Hotel doesn't need ornate, baronial cuisine. It took the owners 20 years to figure this out, with a nudge from French-born, all-American chef Michel Richard. Did I really have burgers and fish and chips in these gilded landmarked surroundings?
The Villard Wing previously chewed up Le Cirque and Gilt. Both were ultra-pricey and stuffy despite attempts to hip up their Italian Renaissance-style, mahogany-and-gold-leaf bones with screaming colors. (Remember Le Cirque's neon light rings?)
It took Brittany-born Richard to beat some sense into the joint, and guts for him to take the plunge. A jolly, white-bearded Santa Claus, he hasn't worked in New York in 40 years, earning a trail of awards in LA, DC, Las Vegas and Atlantic City. At 65, he's in no need of the nose-rearranging reception that Manhattan doles out to many long-absent chefs.
Yet he's boldly launched two distinct restaurants. The Gallery, in the paneled Hunt Room, is a prix-fixe affair with menus starting at $165, too new to review. But Villard Michel Richard is an à la carte "bistro" in the vaulted-ceiling bar and magisterial "drawing room" (once known as the Madison Room). They look as if even a cup of coffee should cost a fortune, but most entrees are in the $20s.
Their affordability is a happy shock amid the carpeted (but tablecloth-free) splendor. Designer Jeffrey Beers lightened the 19th-century mood with a wine "cellar" in the form of a giant, Apple Store-like glass cube. The crowd's often 21st-century slob city — but there's more life and laughter at a single meal than I remember from a half-dozen at the place's predecessors.
The floor staff are less starchy than their pressed suits. The menu, too, reflects Richard at his casual best. You've had beet, arugula and goat cheese a thousand times, but well-chosen elements and sparkling composition make the salad new ($17).
Corn-battered cod makes for marvelous fish and chips ($26). The burger ($26) — a grind of brisket, chuck eye roll and tri-tip — is deep-flavored, juicy and rich in mouth feel.
France peers through the tall windows via "faux gras" terrine and country pâté ($18); the terrine is a crunchy meld of chicken liver mousse and pistachios, the pâté a potful of oven-baked, herbed chicken liver. Richard's Yankee Doodle side comes through loud and clear in country-breaded fried chicken without a trace of grease ($28).
The menu needs more and better fish entrees than uninspired salmon with lentils ($34). I expected more from the cote de boeuf ($59), but it was snore-inducing.
But Richard's enormous French and American desserts make for a happy ending — like an impossibly light-on-the-tongue napoleon and a caterpillar-like banana split.
One afternoon, Richard prowled the floor, greeting friends and strangers. Told by my female guest that she loved his now-closed Citrus in LA, he kissed her on the cheek.
When I echoed her sentiment, he kissed me less passionately. But the pleasure of dining in these intolerably gorgeous rooms at tolerable prices is love enough.
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