The restaurant now called Moulin Rouge was once, about three years ago, an outpost of Buffalo Steakhouse. Buffalo was a restaurant chain based in France, peddling big hunks of meat with an American Old West theme. Some might say that opening an outlet in the U.S. would be like opening an Outback in, well, the outback, but we've already mined the cowboys and Indians oeuvre until the cultural significance has run almost dry. That's why giant statues of befeathered native-Americans and beefy bison had enough kitschy appeal to add some character to a chain restaurant experience. And, strangely enough, there was a lot to like about the place.
Now that Buffalo Steakhouse's western expansion has fizzled out and new owners have taken over the building, those statues and much of the kitsch is gone. Thankfully, much of the restaurant's charm is still intact, since that is almost all it has going for it.
Moulin Rouge's two big dining rooms look like nothing less than tastefully appointed dining cars on a bordello train during the late 1800s. Rich, dark wood panels framed with molding. Brass luggage racks suspended above the cozy and intimate booths. Black hooded lights ringed with flouncy red tassels suspended above each table. It may sound silly, but taken as a whole the ensemble is surprisingly beautiful, with almost no tongue-in-cheek touches that might detract from the effect.
It also fits the new name like a velvet glove. Sadly, little else about Moulin Rouge lives up to the high bar set by the decor.
The food is a mishmash of remnants from Buffalo Steakhouse and B Gourmet — the previous incarnation of Moulin Rouge under the same ownership — built around a core of classical French cuisine. Chicken wings and burgers sit adjacent to croque monsieur and côte de bouef. You can choose between potatoes au gratin or waffle fries with your entree, start with caviar and pâté then nosh on meatloaf.
Maybe that's a nod toward the restaurant's industrial wasteland location on U.S. 19 in Pinellas Park, an attempt to have enough crowd-pleasers on the menu to compensate for a brasserie concept that is decidedly niche in those parts. Whatever the reason, it's a bit disconcerting.
When the two culinary cultures meet, however, there are occasionally some tasty results, like chicken wings glazed with a classic red-wine reduction that adds a burst of salt and tang to this bar food standard. And sometimes a few crispy waffle fries is just what you want with a crock of seafood cassolette.
Mostly, though, the dichotomy doesn't work out. Not because American chain food and French bistro cooking shouldn't share a plate, but because Moulin Rouge's food rarely rises above the humdrum no matter the dish's ethnic background.
Escargot comes to the table swimming in a pool of broken, watery pesto. The restaurant's home-made pâté is bland and uninteresting, while the classic creamy potatoes au gratin manage to hit the table both cold on the edges and overcooked in the center. Duck breast is a uniform grey throughout and lamb chops range from rare to medium on the same plate. Sauces, easily France's most important culinary achievement, range from the raw and unpleasant bite of green peppercorn to the fatty soup of the seafood cassolette.
Some Buffalo remnants, thankfully, are still done well, like simply grilled and well-seasoned steaks. Quiche, easily the best item on the former steakhouse chain's menu, is even better at Moulin Rouge. The rich custard is cooked just until it holds together when cut into wedges, easily the best quiche I've ever had at a restaurant in Florida.
But good luck finding out what the flavor of the quiche is that day, considering the sometimes unprofessional, largely uninformed waitstaff. Ordering a wine off the restaurant's tiny list is also disappointing, both because of the overplayed and mediocre selection and because so few of the options come from France.
Order dessert, however, and you very well could leave Moulin Rouge with a smile on your face, despite the restaurant's faults. That final course is the Gallic heart and soul that's missing from the rest of the meal, shown in exquisite napoleons that look as pretty as they taste, a stack of dark and deeply flavored chocolate mousses, and crepes Suzette loaded with plenty of bright and bitter orange zest to cut through the almost cloying sweetness.
Still, that's likely not enough. Although the Bay area has suffered from a serious lack of French cuisine over the past decade, places like Cassis and St. Pete Brasserie in downtown St. Pete have started to change that, becoming destinations for bistro dining fans.
With those high-flying options available just a short drive from Pinellas Park, it seems likely that the luxurious train cars of Moulin Rouge will have about as much appeal for most folks as a cross-country Amtrak voyage.
This article appears in Jun 3-9, 2010.