Quantcast
Channel: Eat Your Heart Out L.A.
Viewing all articles
Browse latest Browse all 23

Le Comptoir: The Counter Force

0
0

Gary Menes knows how to turn a vegetable.  Turn, that is, from a mere root, or stem, or spear, from the most ordinary of vegetables, into the most wondrous thing beheld on a plate.

A bite into an explosive disk of celtuce or a languid bulb of fennel makes you wonder what palate-morphing trick is behind this Houdini’s manipulation?  Surely Menes didn’t take the obvious route, as many chefs do, dousing greens in animal fat or topping them with chunks of pancetta.  No, this guy doesn’t take shortcuts–a fact that becomes quite obvious after sixty seconds of watching the Le Comptoir chef plating, tweezers in hand, with remarkable precision and focus–a scientist and his petri dish.  Then what makes Menes’ abalone mushroom more satisfying than an impeccable cut of filet mignon?  Why does his bud of cauliflower pack more flavor than a bite of butter-drenched lobster?  Is the answer in technique?  In ingredients?  In passion?  And how do you approach this meal?  Perhaps studiously, attempting to unveil its wonders.  Or do you willingly resign yourself to the fantasy of it all?

On a recent Friday night, I was a single bite into the meal when I decided to surrender to the experience.  A rarity for me, since I don’t travel to so much as a food stand without camera in tow.  But after tasting the amuse bouche, an exceptional scoop of softened grits laced with pleasant bursts of lemon, I knew I wanted to eat Le Comptoir in a whirl of wonder; like a child at a magic show.  It felt too special to photograph.  A picture may be worth a thousand words, but it could never capture the way the zest of lemon awoken my taste buds and unleashed a wave of hunger in my stomach.

The first thing you will notice about Menes, when you slink into a stool at the counter, is the top of his head.  He’ll be bent over a tiny square bowl, observing its contents, and you’ll find yourself leaning forward as well, curious to see what has caught his attention.  Then suddenly he’ll swing upright, flashing a massive smile–the kind that starts with his eyes–while he thanks you for coming that evening.  After heartfelt greetings to his guests, Menes goes back to plating and slicing, head down.  Focused.  And it is this rhythm, the ebb and flow of conversation and observation, that will carry you through the most delightful of dining experiences.

Le Comptoir, which has resided in downtown’s Tiara Cafe since October 2011, is Menes, a waitress and three line cooks; one of which looks no older than nineteen.  Open Thursday through Saturdays, the menu changes nightly depending on ingredient availability.  While this is the final weekend of residency at Tiara Cafe, once Le Comptoir relocates, the concept will remain the same.

Before the first course, before the amuse bouche, before even your first wine pairing, comes the bread.  It is 18 years of age from Menes’ sourdough starter, sliced thick, and presented in stacks.  No coincidence it’s served without butter, nothing should mask its slightly spongy texture; its tartness.  I’m never one to indulge in a preprandial loaf, but somehow each slice vanishes before my eyes.

Then the rest of dinner commences.  It’s a five course meal with two options for each course, so my dinnermate and I decide we’ll order one of everything.  Ten courses.  Two girls.  A glass bowl appears at the table, empty except for a crisped puck topped with an orb of greek yogurt.  A cook fills the bowl with a summer corn veloute the color of a faded wedding dress.  It’s an arresting dish.  Sweet and pungent.  Then an abalone mushroom on a bed of faro grain, dressed with summer greens and dried fruit vinaigrette.  It is dense and velvety; rich and earthy all at once.  The second course features the beauty of a farm egg.  There is a version where a glowing fried egg is balanced over inch-long pieces of thin asparagus tossed in a brown butter “beurre noissette.”  There is a version where the egg arrives hissing in a small cast-iron pot, and you are instructed to melt a pad of herbed butter along the interior of the cocotte and over the yolk.  Then a chef adds a pour of jus vert and you garnish the dish with leafy greens and colorful splashes of flowers.

By the time the long plate of vegetables and fruits arrive, you have been watching its assembly for quite some time.  It has taken the hands of every cook to arrange such a kaleidoscopic work of art.  The result is stunning.  Nearly twenty varieties of vegetables and fruit range from a magenta sliver of pickled onion to a round of iridescent green celtuce.  And the potent flavors – wallops of salt, subtle sours, and sweetness – are enough to twist an adamant carnivore into giving plants serious contemplation.  Menes does this a second time when the summer “cassoulet” arrives, a vibrant grouping of greens placed in a magnificent swirl, as pretty as a stroke of paint, and as savory as salt itself.  There is the house cut tagliolini as well.  A delicate twirl under blankets of black truffles.  The pasta cooked tender and barely sauced, allowing the aromatic truffles to take center stage.  It’s a dish so pure and elegant, yet seemingly simple.  I ruminated on it for days and days after.

But the chef does indeed have a way with meat too.  A tender dry aged ribeye is poached in butter, sliced, and presented with halved potatoes, juicy plums, spinach and mint.  It’s good.  So good, in fact, that it makes you realize how much preparation and skill should go into a cut of meat.  The scales tip back and carnivores can rejoice once again.

The finish comes in a sourdough donut placed near a pool of malted chocolate, crumbles of candied macadamia, sour cream, and a scattering of blackberries, raspberries, and a Persian mulberry.  Menes will point out the Persian mulberry and venture on a poetic discourse explaining what makes it so special.  He’ll describe the bright flavor, the complexity, the “pop” and once you taste it, you understand exactly what he means.

Then the meal ends the way it started – with the bread.  Menes has sliced numerous loaves and continuously replenishes each stack.  We smear a trio of farm house cheese on that moist sourdough and throw back the last sips of a vigorous Gamay.

The cooks clear the cutting board, remove pans from the stove, and chat with guests about the food.  As we scoot off our stools, we shake their hands and express our gratitude.  Then Menes rounds the counter, smiling.  He asks what you thought of the meal and you tell him it was incredible.  But you can’t even begin to explain how incredible.  You trust that he knows.  Instead he beams, gracious.  Humility behind brilliance.  It’s the sort of thing tomorrow’s culinary heroes are made of.

Le Comptoir, new location to be announced.  lecomptoirla.com


Filed under: Los Angeles, Restaurants

Viewing all articles
Browse latest Browse all 23

Latest Images

Trending Articles





Latest Images