A reader who fancies himself a gourmand calls me every so often to complain he can't find a decent meal around SoHo. I don't know why he calls me. Perhaps my noncommittal ohs and umms, uttered as he serves his whine, have given him the impression I agree. No way, Jose. This dolt should be grateful he lives in a neighborhood with an outstanding assortment of restaurants offering not only a great diversity of cuisines, but great quality as well. Heck, Stevie Wonder could throw a fork and hit a good meal here.
I could change this malcontent's perspective in an instant. I could kidnap him and drop him off, like The Prisoner, in some surreal landscape, perhaps Largo or Lutz. If he tries to escape, giant, menacing beach balls will bounce him back into Burger King or Quickie Mart. Let him live on Slim Jims and McMeals for a while, and he'll soon be singing the praises of his old stomping ground. Then, and only then, will I allow him to return to civilization. I may even let him accompany me to one of my favorite spots in SoHo, Cafe by the Bay.
If you live in the area, you already know Cafe by the Bay is the best spot for breakfast. Great lunches too. But until recently, what was going on in the evening was something of a mystery. Sometimes it was only open Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays. Then, for a time, it didn't serve dinner at all. Now, chef/owner Andre Roth is once again serving dinner, Tuesday through Saturday. Like the cafe's maitre d', however, dinner service has a pronounced European accent.
Jacques Fauvet laughs when I mention his accent. It's the curse of being born in France, we say. That accent stays with you always, no matter how long you are away. Jacques has retained more than his accent. The man oozes French charm and sophistication. You feel classier just being in the same room with him.
Chef couldn't ignore all the requests to reopen in the evening, but decided he'd only resume dinner if he could do it in the European manner. We take our time, relaxing, talking with friends, enjoying a leisurely meal. Jacques explains. So now, we have one seating per table. When you make a reservation, that table is yours for the entire evening. If you spend three or four hours over dinner, no problem. No one will be rushing you out to make room for the next customer. This way, we give every diner the attention they deserve, and chef can have a little fun, too. No assembly line, trying to take care of so many people. He has the time to make everything from scratch, as he likes.
Chef Andre celebrates the French talent for turning everyday home cooking into an art form. The dinner I enjoyed, under Jacques' watchful eye, was quite simply one of the best I've had in weeks. It began with an assortment of olives, fresh croissant and what at first glance seemed one pale, perfect gardenia floating in a small dish, but turned out to be the chef's artful way of serving sweet butter. I lingered long over a menu that offered far too many tempting choices and a pleasing and affordable wine list with labels from France, Oregon and California, most priced between $20 and $40. Kendall Jackson is the only wine available by the glass.
I started with an appetizer of five toothsome jumbo shrimp ($8.95) wrapped with prosciutto and set upon a pool of rich, buttery, wine sauce dotted with bits of fresh artichoke and grape tomatoes. A tiny salad of fresh spring greens huddled beside a delicate basket, shaped from shredded Parmesan cheese, which held a splendid cocktail sauce spiked with just enough horseradish to give it zip, without zapping my taste buds. It was such a pleasing assortment of tastes and textures, so artfully plated and perfectly satisfying, that I was tempted to stop my meal there, but Jacques assured me it could, and would, get better. I'm glad I listened, because my next course, a bowl of crab bisque ($5.50) was nothing less than brilliant, opulent, creamy, yet balanced with just enough acidity to keep it from being overwhelmed by richness.
Among the entrees, grouper, my grandmother Margauritte's way ($20.50) was the one that sent me home in tears. Why did cruel fate deliver me into a family that regarded frozen fish sticks as good eatin', while delivering Chef Andre into the loving arms of a grandmother who apparently learned to cook grouper in heaven? Life isn't fair, but I evened the score as much as I could by stuffing myself with these mouthwatering roulades of grouper, rolled around a savory filling of crabmeat and spinach and bathed in a beurre blanc sauce so lightly touched with cinnamon schnapps that my tongue did not say, Hmm, cinnamon, but, mmmmmm!
A superb serving of lamb ($22), sliced from the ribs and swathed in a sauce made of port and Smyrna figs, boasts a rack of bones pulled into a crown and filled with pommes frite. I shudder to say French fries, lest you think of Chef Andre and McDonald's in the same sentence. Blasphemy!
But what about dessert? I hear the chocoholics crying. Didn't you have something chocolate? Indeed, and what else at a French cafe but a lovely chocolate souffle ($5.50) all gooey in the center, with a cup of strong, black coffee.
This French cafe isn't stuffy. Dress up or wear jeans as it suits you. Also, the entire menu changes monthly, so your dinner may differ from mine, but the chef assures me he'll prepare any item if you call ahead (though apparently there are limits — he did refuse my request for a 50-gallon drum of crab bisque for takeout).
This article appears in Apr 19-26, 2001.