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JoJo's Market? Not Yet
When French chefs head for New York or any other big
American city, I assume they’re going for the bucks
– they want to test themselves and their money-making
aspirations in the American cauldron. But when a French
chef who is astoundingly successful in New York (and
London, Hong Kong and Las Vegas) comes to Paris, my
assumption is that they’re looking not for riches
but for confirmation, proof that they can not just get
rich but cook for the world’s most demanding culinary
audience.
So when French-born Jean-Georges Vongerichten announced
plans to open a restaurant in Paris I was cheered at
the prospect of more frequent access to the wonders
of a chef whose New York restaurants – Jo-Jo’s,
Jean-George, and Vong -- I have long admired.
Well, I might as well have bet on a better burger coming
across the McDonalds counter. Vongerichten’s Market,
(the comma is part of the logo, not my typo) is a major
disappointment, from start -- the telephone calls to
make the reservation -- to the finish.
New York is a wonderful city and I love most things
about it. What I don’t love, and hate to see migrate
to this side of the Atlantic, is the indifference and
even disdain that the hot restaurant of the moment rains
on its clients. It took three calls to get a table.
For the first one, the young woman who said hello apparently
forgot what came next, because she talked instead to
someone else in the room until she hung up. The second
one obtained the information that there were tables
at 7 P.M. and 11 P.M. but no possibility at all in between.
With a third call, again with a lot of conversation
with someone else in the room, we found that there was
indeed one table in the bar at 8 P.M.
Nothing quite builds anticipation like not being able
to get a table in a restaurant and then succeeding.
So when we arrived promptly at 8 we were surprised to
be practically alone in the place. That didn’t
preclude our being seated at the smallest table in the
bar, the one right by the door. The smallest table,
but the best seats, because we could observe the ditzy
disarray at the front desk as well as the crowd when
it began arriving at 9.
The diners matched the beautiful decor, as well turned
out as the restaurant is inviting in all detail, from
the canopy of trees out front to the lightness of the
wood wall panels. And the crowd on a recent Saturday
night was older than I expected, more the Arrived than
the Aspirational. (They were so much my own contemporaries,
in fact, that I wondered if they had the same trouble
I did reading the small print of the wine list in the
low light of the dining room. Why do restaurants pose
that challenge?)
Our first choice, the “Black Plate” starter
– the plate itself is indeed black – raised
our hopes. A rare example of the “fusion cuisine”
that has mostly and happily bypassed France so far,
it contained a sampling of crispy nems, succulent sushi
and delicious fried shrimp, each with its own sauce,
and pan-seared quail with a salad of cress whose lack
of peppery character was a surprise. The quail too seemed
to have been plumped up on steroids, but otherwise the
array of tastes was an exotic delight.
To follow, our choices were chicken and salmon, and
with those the letdown was palpable. The salmon was
not “fondant,” or melting, as advertised,
but rather seemed to have been rescued from something
problematic. It was served on a bed of “truffled
potatoes.” Now this season does promise to be very
difficult for truffles, and I don’t know where
these were from, but whatever their provenance the transfer
had sucked out all of their lusty flavor.
But the chicken was the most disappointing. It had
a crusty, caramel top, but the flip side was undercooked
and totally without interest. Even my first mother in
law made better chicken.
We skipped dessert and coffee, too.
The wine list also bears “fusion” characteristics,
with an interesting sampling of wines from the New World
as well as the work of several significant French producers.
I particularly enjoyed Chapoutier’s Mount Beson
syrah from Australia since it reminded me of my Rhone
Valley home.
Prices go with the address, if not necessarily with
the greeting or what gets delivered in the plate.
If this is indeed the attempt of a chef I’ve always
admired to prove himself in his homeland, he’s
got work to do. The French critics have been brutal
in their reactions, and for once I have to agree with
them. You can do better, Jo-Jo. We all know that and
you do too.
Market
15, avenue Matignon
75008 Paris
Tel: 01 56 43 40 90 Fax: 01 56 43 40 92
Open daily. Credit cards : American Express, Visa,
Mastercard. About 360 francs per person, including service
but not wine.
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