Flying with Jerome
Dinner: 1.5 out of 5 stars
Brunch: 3.5 out of 5 stars
Pastries/Dessert: 4 out of 5 stars
1469 S. Belcher Road, Clearwater. Appetizers: $5.50-$12.50; brunch: $3.50-$13; entrees: $11.25-$19; desserts: $1.50-$4.25; wines by the glass: $7-$10. 727-315-4925; flyingwithjerome.com.
I don't envy a chef following a dream. Overseeing a restaurant is a bit like running a marathon inside an asylum. Actually, a mom-and-pop operation requires the proprietors to be more akin to triathletes. They have to nail the food, master every aspect of a business plan that assures cash flow for financial stability, and then be creative enough on the marketing end to develop a regular clientele.
The intersection of South Belcher and Nursery roads in Clearwater isn't the buzzing metropolis necessary to drive enough traffic to sustain a business reliant purely on French pastry, however exquisite, so I fully understand the impulse to expand from pastries to weekend dinner and brunch menus of traditional French bistro stalwarts. The problem is that even while savory dishes don't require the exacting chemistry essential for successful baking, they are two separate disciplines. Chefs may cross-train, but culinary schools usually divide sweets from savory. Pastry is its own field, and one that Flying with Jerome owner Jerome Dulas mastered in his native France.
The techniques he learned to turn out his exquisite jewel-like pastries are on full display for the eyes and tongue behind the glass display and on your plate. They are superb. Brunch, too, is mostly very good. But dinner, despite a full dining room of "mature" guests, is another story altogether.
Almost every dish we encounter ignores the attention to detail necessary for a successful dinner service. There are cut corners with ingredients, storage and application of technique. Flying with Jerome on the pastry plane is all loop-de-loops and thrills, but dinner is an emergency landing where I feel like dashing for the exit row and jumping down the slide to safety.
Though the country pâté is a fine rustic dish, attractively plated, the foie gras is, how you say, une mauvaise blague (a bad joke). No wonder the puff pastry rectangle covers the mess on the plate, because instead of a glistening slice of warm, crosshatched sautéed foie gras proudly perched on a lovely mound of soft golden delicious apples, I must dig through a tangle of unpeeled fruit to find three tiny scraps of what is one of French gastronomy's most treasured ingredients. Très décevant.
The beef bourguignon with potatoes gratin is strangely served side-by-side in two matching square bowls. The beef is braised till tender, but there's no sign of any traditional garnishes, not even a mushy carrot. There's one infinitesimally thin slice of mushroom. Julia Child requires us to brown-braise onions and sauté mushrooms separately so that each element is served for optimal taste and texture. Also missing are the bacon lardon that add such essential character for the magical alchemy of this most wonderful of French braises.
As if that disappointment isn't enough, the partner is a potato gratin served in its own dish, as if meat and potatoes touching might transfer some kind of cooties. As it turns out, the layers of thinly sliced potatoes bathed in cream are perfectly tender. Sadly, they taste funky, as though they were made ahead and not stored properly. There's no effort to garnish with some fresh parsley camouflage, either.
Only marginally better is the overcooked duck breast, which is actually only a half split lengthwise, sliced and served without crispy skin in honey-rosemary goo. It resembles a row of naked grey chicken nuggets. And while the accompanying colorful ratatouille is overwhelmed by curry spices that scream, the green salad is bland and unadorned.
Pride in the wine service is lacking as well. Just because you're a mom-and-pop bistro and, therefore, the budget only allows for clunky glasses, don't serve the red wine ice cold and full to the brim. I appreciate the generous pour, but without room to swirl, and with the wine one step above popsicle temperature, it might as well be grape juice.
The pastries and desserts are the stars here. We had stunning lemon, cherry-pistachio and fresh-glazed strawberry tarts, plus a sublime opera cake. However, when we asked for a dish of ice cream to accompany the divine pistachio tart embedded with dark juicy cherries, we got vanilla bean flavored with freezer burn. Luckily, an absolutely terrific latte came to the rescue.
Brunch is very nice, with a textbook mushroom-goat cheese quiche that needs to be warmer, a lovely four-cheese omelet, and a classic croque-monsieur (oddly with tomatoes) covered in creamy bechamel — but with lukewarm fries, though they're clearly cooked correctly. There's also a surprising eggs Benedict featuring lushly oozing yolks in proper hollandaise, airy and ethereal, with a refreshing core of bright lemon.
I almost never encounter real hollandaise while eating out. This is a technical sauce that most kitchens can't bother to get right. It's an emulsion of eggs with butter that easily curdles or scrambles. Most often, you get a pale imitation made with a thickening agent or perhaps emulsified by dribbling warm butter over yolks in a blender. The real deal requires finesse, but when done right it's magical. Flying With Jerome nails it.
So why the utter disconnect between day and night? Sweet and savory? Fresh and freezer burn? It's like a conundrum out of Sartre, mon Dieu.
CL Food Critic Jon Palmer Claridge dines anonymously when reviewing. Check out the explanation of his rating system, or email him at [email protected].
