After the fireworks of the first courses, the main fish dishes came as a bit of a letdown. There's nothing at all wrong with these offerings—each one features pristine fish, cooked and seasoned with precision and skill—but there's something by-the-books about them. The only secondo that approaches the gleeful deliciousness of what came before is the wild salmon poached in duck fat, with fava beans and chanterelles—a combination that's pretty much guaranteed to be outstanding. The salmon skin was crunchy, and the coral-colored mass of fish was translucent in the center, suffused with richness. We also liked the halibut with clams, but the black bass with artichokes and roasted rouget with cranberry beans left us unmoved, if satisfied.
It's easy to find fault with opulence right now, and hard to thoroughly enjoy a restaurant populated with people who have to distinguish between their Bentleys. But Michael White is gunning for the top of the heap—and why not? We might achieve world peace by enacting the Lysistrata, substituting White's pastas for sex.
240 Central Park S.
New York, NY 10019
Category: Restaurant > European
Region: West 50s
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