Glamour, 19 Floors Up

The economy is in a downturn, the political sphere is as grating and demeaning to our collective intelligence as ever, and the planet is inexorably, unarguably heating up. Yes, it’s a grim situation out there, and some people would argue that now is the time for modesty, for a greater sense of simplicity, for (like fingernails on a chalkboard, I write this) less off a focus on treating ourselves right at the dinner table.

But I would argue that the opposite is true. Because of all the negativity out there, now is the perfect time for a bit of glamour. After all, is there a better pick-me-up than a few hours of being cosseted in the kind of fabulousness that XIX has to offer, of dining beneath the exaggerated strands of quasi-sexual pearls dangling from the ceiling and beside the gently winking lights of the city’s landmark high-rises just outside the windows?

Oh, and the mayor was at the table behind us. Nothing says glamour like beefy dark-suited security men tucking into their meals while constantly—and none-too-surreptitiously—glancing over at His Honor’s table to make sure everything is copasetic.

When XIX replaced Founders Restaurant in 2006, more of the buzz surrounding it was due to the space itself. Based on a number of personal experiences, it took a while for the food and the service to catch up. Too often, the dishes were overly precious, and the service tended toward pretentiousness.

But over the course of the past several months, I’d been hearing that almost sub-aural buzz of excitement that makes itself known whenever a generally popular restaurant begins to hit its stride. So I decided to head back to the Bellevue, take the surprisingly quick elevator ride up to the 19th floor, and see what was really happening up there.

I’m happy to report the following: The food is finally living up to the promise of the dining room, making XIX the destination it was always intended to be.

Warm white asparagus ($12) was one of the most overtly transporting appetizers I’ve had all winter. Perfectly snappy asparagus spears, just warmer than room temperature, were paired with a nutmeg-scented organic brown-egg salad of amazingly delicate texture. That egg, in fact, was just as much the focal point as the asparagus, and seemed to me to be nearly the apotheosis of the egg’s potential (the only better ones I’ve had were gently fried and crowned with fresh-shaved white truffles).

Grilled Spanish baby octopus ($14) were, in much the same way, textural tours-de-force. These little cephalopods, after all, are notoriously difficult to cook properly; the classic kitchen dictum sets out the cooking rules as either 30 seconds or 30 minutes, but nothing in between if you want to avoid a rubbery mess.

And, indeed, Chef de Cuisine Marc Plessis seems to have taken this rule to heart—as he has so many of the key other ones. From a technical point of view, his preparations are nearly flawless, and he has here created a dish of almost magnificent depth and complexity. The gently charred octopus was given an even further sense of luxuriousness by the addition of surprisingly subtle truffle vinaigrette and a warm potato-leek salad. Preserved lemon brought a sense of brightness to the proceedings, though even that was well-calibrated not to overwhelm.

Leeks also made an appearance in the delicious striped bass entrée ($30), a crispy-skinned, moist-flesh preparation given a vaguely exotic air by madras curry and smoked mussel cream, the latter component rendering the broth slightly pungent and utterly irrestible. Sinful butter croutons mimicked the snap of the fish’s skin in a smart tying together of textural ends.

But Chef Plessis’ kitchen does more than just subtle. One of the highlights of the menu is undoubtedly the milk-fed porcelet ($28), a tender, deeply-flavored stunner encrusted in a pecan-and-bourbon lacquer. The dark sweetness of that crust was echoed by the slow-roasted cipollini and counterbalanced by cheddar-rich grits and a side pot of braised collard greens studded with pork – textured ham hocks: Soul food’s never gotten such a glamorous makeover.

Happily, both the dessert and wine programs follow in the same vein: They’re constructed with intelligence and an understated sense of luxury that never seems overbearing. The ever-changing dessert menu might include strawberry shortcake paired with lemon olive oil one night and a peach and blueberry crumble grounded by a rich, buttery semolina crust another.

And because of the number of banquets at XIX, the markups on bottles of wine diminish as the prices rise, which means, for example, that while a bottle of Bollinger Special Cuvée NV will cost you $120 here, the magisterial Salon Le Mesnil Grand Cru Blanc de Blancs 1985 will only set you back $223, which represents a far smaller markup. (In fact, that price is far less than the bottle’s current value at auction; if you have the chance, snap it up).

The only sticking point here was with the service, which, while outgoing and competent, did tend to lag at certain points. But that’s just a quibble with an otherwise remarkable restaurant. More often than not, after all, a shot of glamour is just what you need in uncertain times. And lately, XIX is one of the city’s finest purveyors.