Frenchette

Time for me to confess that I don’t like French food.

This morning, I learned how to solve a Rubik’s Cube. I’ve been saying for the past few months that it’s been a life-long dream of mine to be able to solve one. (It’s true! I had completely forgotten until I saw a few of my coworkers playing with one that’s been floating around my office.) And then over the long weekend, I was walking home from a brunch with my friends at Bubby’s (I had my usual, the huevos rancheros) and, influenced by how lovely the weather was, I took a new route and ducked into a small toy store to buy the last Rubik’s Cube they had in stock. It took me a few hours yesterday and today, but I’ve finally figured it out. It’s taking all of my self control to sit down and write instead of continuing to solve it over and over again.

Since the last time I last wrote to you all, I turned one year older. I started my birthday with the best pancakes in New York City and then ended it surrounded by my friends at my beloved Art Bar, where we ate slices of Red Gate Bakery’s bagel cake. (It’s a base of chocolate and vanilla marble cake topped with brown butter vanilla bean cream cheese frosting and coated in everything bagel spices. And… it exceeded expectations. I can’t believe I’m writing this, but the sweetness of the frosting paired so well with the garlicky, oniony seasoning.) And after all that, I feel exactly the same. I’m still adjusting to post-school adulthood, where the years have started to blur together now that a new year no longer signals the start of a new grade, a new school. I don’t really know what my Next Big Thing will be, but learning how to solve a Rubik’s Cube was a timely reminder of free will, that many goals of mine—no matter how silly—are fully achievable if I just put some time towards it. (And very often, much less time than I think.)

Rubik’s Cube aside, I’ve had a very pleasant long weekend, spending time doing all that I love in this city: going to Citi Field, wandering from the West Village to the Lower East Side, watching a movie and dining at Rolo’s. A Rolo’s review is imminent—I want to go again first—but for the time being, let’s go back in time a few weekends…

On a Saturday night in April, Viraj and I braved the cold and rainy spring weather for dinner at Frenchette. The restaurant is technically walking distance from our apartment, but we rode the subway, me taking care not to slip on the stairs in my traction-less heels. An unpleasant walk that followed gave way to the intimidatingly upscale restaurant interior, and though I was pretty certain that I was an adult and not three kids on top of each other in a trenchcoat, I certainly felt like it when I got to the front of the host stand—that is, vastly underqualified to be in such a refined space.

As “research” for writing this, I read a review of Frenchette from 2018, right after it opened. The article starts by lamenting about how tough it is to get a reservation there—amusing, given how relatively easy it was for me to book a reservation, seven years later. Apart from that, however, the rest of it rang quite true, down to the detail about encountering a toddler—one was tucking into duck frites at the table next to me. (It probably wasn’t duck frites… but I guess I can’t be sure.) After spending a decent amount of time dining at French restaurants, I think I can conclude that I don’t really like French cuisine. But, Viraj really does, and I came across Frenchette while researching French restaurants near me. Perhaps the restaurant once carried real cachet, but at least in my circles, it’s a restaurant that’s simmering along in the background, while everyone goes to Le Veau d'Or or Chez Fifi. But Frenchette, as far as I can tell, is just as excellent as it was when the line was out the door. (It gives me hope that one day I will finally get to eat at Don Angie.)

Instead of getting one of their signature cocktails, I opted for a martini, but Viraj got the Always Greener, which was gin, Suze, sorrel and lemon. The total effect of this was weirdly a cocktail that tasted like what can only be described as “green”: bright and citrusy but also kind of grassy and herby. Food-wise, the meal was decadent from the beginning: we started with a shallot tarte Tatin (with a bone marrow vinaigrette) and disks of foie gras atop perfectly round pieces of crusty brioche. The bread is what completed the latter dish, in my opinion: that satisfying crunch made the foie gras so much more texturally interesting to eat.

Our second course went by in a flash: we had boudin blanc, a white sausage, with morels, asparagus and mashed potatoes, and artichoke tortellini, both of which I have very little memory of eating. But then came the duck frites, which was very, very memorable. I insisted on getting it based on information I had sourced online ahead of time, and was then nervous when the dish was presented to us and it looked very… simple. But looks can be deceiving and there’s magic in simplicity—and yeah, this might be the best duck frites I’ve ever had. The dish is exactly as described, but cooked so well: crispy skin and tender, fatty meat, plus crisp, platonically ideal fries.

We ended the meal with a Paris-Brest À La Pistache, a pastry neither Viraj nor I had ever heard of. It’s a ring of choux pastry and (in this case) a pistachio cream. A classic dessert at Frenchette, one that when photographed signals that you’ve been there, done that, but honestly wasn’t really my favorite. No shade to Frenchette, and props to them for being ahead of the trend, but pistachio isn’t really my thing.

Despite my general dislike of French food, I really did enjoy Frenchette. It’s French done exceptionally well, and I was pleasantly surprised by how much I liked that foie gras. (What an insane sentence to write.) And on that note… back to Rubik’s Cube-ing.

Bite It!

Frenchette reservations are on OpenTable here. Book ahead for more options, but overall I didn’t find it too difficult to get a reservation!