Upscale

Eastside Road, June 6, 2012—

WHAT TO CALL this kind of restaurant? We used to distinguish fancy places by calling them "white-tablecloth" restaurants, but these days that's just too generic. I guess I think of this kind of place as "upscale." The tables are well separated, the ceiling high, the service courteous and just a little formal.

The menu offers seven choices for both the first and the main course, many of them on the rich side. I had Scallop en croûte, three fat sea-scallops in beurre-blanc with a tiny taste of caviar ("American") and fennel fondue, in a rich competent puff-paste casing.



Afterward, this "Crispy Skin Duck Breast," cooked to just the right degree but not exactly crisp, on a bed of dark polenta, with one tiny turnip with its stem and leaf and a quarter of a small onion, artfully arranged on the oval white platter.

Presentation is what this is about. (The desserts were even more architectural; I had an armagnac instead.) There's no question that the food tasted good, was nicely executed, and locally and intelligently sourced; but there's also no question but that concern for visual appearance — and for adherence to what I think of as media-influenced gastrofashion — outweighed consideration of total mealtime enjoyment. We live in a decadent age, when meta matters more than matter, style more than substance.

The food was delicious, the evening relaxed, the conversation enjoyable — we were with friends, and left to our own pace. I have no complaints with the restaurant, only with some aspects of the age I find I live in — an aging man's complaint, I suppose.

Sauvignon blanc, Lime Stone, 2010 (good varietal character, very dry);
Pinot noir, Sojourn (Sonoma coast), 2004 (beautifully balanced, rich but not overbearing: thanks, John!)

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