this is a great example of a restaurant that is resting lazily on its laurels.
judging by previous yelps, it might have been good when it opened, but once the reputation got established, it stopped paying attention to the little things that make places great.
like comfortable seats and nice food.
(these chairs look like something a shopping mall food court would throw away after the first year of abuse by a million mall rat bums. ugly steel and plywood. ouch).
we sat on the patio, which has an agreeable view to the hilly north, in audio range of the babbling brook. lovely.
whenever i see fois gras on a menu, i order it, just in case a do-gooding vegetablearian politician bans it one day, like they did in chicago. fools. juniper's effort was well undercooked, slathered in some buttery saffron creme anglais soup and garnished with soggy salad on soggier toast. two astonishing little orange jelly balls accompanied this mess, so for $25 i felt like i could have done better myself. and i don't even know where to buy fois gras, let alone orange jelly balls. (what on earth were they thinking)?
for my next politically incorrect transgression, i went for the veal scallopini, which is the simplest test of any restaurant. theirs was curiously promised with linguini and "english peas", which, to this brit, raised the same red flag that "french toast", "english muffins" and "salisbury steak" does. geographically pairing a boring food with a suspiciously unusual country or town name does not make it a) exotic, b) that place's national dish or c) tastier. viz: denver omlette. utterly ridiculous. (and for those who have never tried one, salisbury steaks are neither).
dudes: peas are peas. round, green, and softly steamed please. especially when being eaten. at prep school, these rock hard pellets would have been fanatically hoarded as primo ammunition for our peashooters during the friday afternoon assault on our elderly latin teacher. to know they were being served with veal and linguini in a posh american restaurant would have raised guffaws from not only the boys involved in the barrage, but also the ducking latin teacher. (and linguine is for throwing; it sticks to blackboards).
considering veal is succulent young cow, supposedly as tender as a calf can possibly ever be, you'd think that it would always be delicious, especially when lightly seared and spiced in an intelligent and delicate way. why, then, do restaurants cloak it in spicy breadcrumbs, deep fry it to a leathery strop and then mask any remaining taste or texture with buttery sauces and distracting paraphernalia? god knows. actually, juniper knows.
here they managed to create a dish that, in blind taste tests, would probably capture the following comments from a panel of independent judges: "chewy but salty", "chicken tender? no, it must be pork rind!", "what are these hard green things?", "isn't this the same yellow soupy shit that came with the fois gras?" etc. etc.
yuk.
my leggy companion had the scallops which were pestoed into submission under a salty green slurry. not my cup of tea, but apparently she likes that. my token nibble made little impact on a palate already disappointed with a cheap pinot and a single revolting bite of the kids' pepperoni pizza (upon which i almost gagged it was so greasy).
by now tummy ache was setting in, so we didn't bother to order dessert, just in case we saw the same yellow sauce again. $135 was way too much to pay for a bad meal, but c'est la vie.
on my scale of nosebag to nectar, nosh would be generous.
as the stockbrokers would say: underweight till market conditions improve. read more