2009 Fall Dining Guide

By Tom Sietsema
Washington Post Staff Writer
Sunday, Oct. 18, 2009

The warm gougeres and sparkling oysters say Paris, but the chopped salad roots me in Washington. Only Michel Richard or one of his proteges could be behind this glamorous garden of finely cut vegetables decorated with chickpeas and ribbons of meat. Chef Cedric Maupillier, the 32-year-old disciple in question, deftly follows the master's lead, infusing his American-and-French food with flair and whimsy. (New on the menu: a divine chicken burger, perked up with lemon zest and dressed the Richard way with a flat potato tuile for unexpected crunch beneath the airy bun.) Flaws? Beef cheeks and sweet potato puree bring to mind winter when I eat them in June, and the last time I dropped by the honeyed bistro, my sea bass was overwhelmed with salt and pepper. Yet the creamy steak tartare served with dynamite fries and the soft-shell crab tempura supported on a zesty ratatouille had "hall of fame" written all over them. My cool-weather dessert of choice, coffee brulot, is whipped up by the bar. A turbocharged latte, it involves coffee, cream and cognac steeped with orange zest and sweet spices: serious fun.

Sietsema Review

Michel Richard's Mass Appeal
At his new bistro, Washington's top chef offers great food at affordable prices

By Tom Sietsema
The Washington Post Magazine
Sunday, March 25, 2007

No chef likes a culinary joke more than Michel Richard. And no chef knows how to stage one more deftly than he does. Until recently, however, you had to reserve well in advance -- and shell out a considerable sum of money -- for the privilege of one of his performances at Michel Richard Citronelle in Georgetown, where his bag of tricks includes such four-star amusements as Israeli couscous masquerading as caviar and "breakfast" for dessert. (The "toast" is made from poundcake, and the "egg" features a yolk of pureed papaya and a white coaxed from almond custard.)

The recent debut of Central Michel Richard downtown opens up the field for more than the rich and the famous. The newcomer also signals a welcome trendlette: top chefs opening informal places to eat. (Coming up next: Brasserie Beck on K Street NW from Robert Wiedmaier of the buttoned-up Marcel's and a yet-to-be-named casual restaurant from the esteemed New York chef Eric Ripert in the West End.)

Central (pronounced sen-TRAHL) is the warmhearted bistro Richard says he has long wanted to launch and the restaurant that so many of us crave nowadays. From the hostess comes a greeting that feels genuine, and not a whiff of attitude. From the sommelier we get a delicious deal. And from the kitchen, led by Richard's protege, Cedric Maupillier, the former executive sous-chef at Citronelle, we find fetching still lifes that often taste as good as they look, at prices that have us pinching ourselves: Did I really just buy a Richard creation that rocked my world and that cost a single digit?

That's been my experience with the Ping-Pong-ball-size gougeres, served piping hot in a wire vase and as good as cheese puffs get, as well as with the onion tart, as rich and thin as Paris Hilton (thanks to creme fraiche in the topping) and offered as two crackling half-moons on a wooden board. Slightly more expensive and just as compelling is asparagus vinaigrette. If any green vegetable has the power to set a heart aflutter, it's this first course. The slightly curved, brilliant-green stalks are arranged like perfect commas on their long white plate; with the help of a scattering of chervil and a sauceboat of pitch-perfect vinaigrette, the asparagus sing.

Ready for some fun? Request an appetizer of duck rillettes and "faux gras" terrine. It's a rich assembly of shredded duck, thin toasted bread for spreading and a terrine that pretends to contain fancy duck liver (foie gras) but substitutes a puree of chicken liver and butter, instead -- the "faux" foie, in other words. The maestro's sense of humor extends to the list of beers, which mixes Bud in with the more artisanal suds, and even to the decor: To the side of the host stand rises a leaning tower of $175 dinner plates, to which Richard is considering adding giant forks, just to make people smile when they stroll in.

The kitchen sends out bistro classics that taste as if they had been FedExed from one of the Michelin Guide's bib gourmand (good value) picks in Paris. Hanger steak is pleasantly chewy and juicy, seasoned with not much more than sea salt and escorted by crisp golden french fries that are some of the best in town (frying them in canola oil and clarified butter lends the snack a nice nutty note); dressing up the dish are glistening greens and the only "ketchup" you'll need: mayonnaise. Salmon is cooked to near-melting and comes with a bed of lentils infused with balsamic vinegar and what tastes like cream but turns out to be the water left over from cooking white beans. The enhancers allow the legumes to deliver a bravura performance. French onion soup is perfectly proper, and while there's no shame in that, the bowl of chicken broth and melted cheese is not as exciting as some of its menu mates.

Richard was born in Brittany, France, but he has lived more than 30 years in the United States and clearly loves waving the American flag. How else to explain the inclusion of fried chicken, a hamburger and a banana split on Central's menu? That chicken, by the way, is dynamite, its flesh luxurious, its coat of bread crumbs light and airy. This being Washington, there's a crab cake on the menu, and it's very good, perched on a nest of shredded leeks bound with mayonnaise and vinegar.

"I want one of those!" a man at the next table declares when he sees my lobster burger arrive. He looks at the towering sandwich hungrily, and I can't blame him. It's beautiful. A glossy bun hovers over a thick pink band of lobster enriched with scallop mousse; instead of bacon, several discs of potato crisps are tucked inside to give the sandwich an unexpected crunch. Trained to make pastry by the esteemed Gaston Lenotre in France, Richard is a master when it comes to weaving soft and crisp textures in dishes, a signature that surfaces in almost every dish here. So, tender, outsize prawns rest on delicately crunchy snow peas, and chocolate mousse is punctuated with beads of chocolate-y rice.

General manager Brian Zipin helped craft a wine list that embraces variety in both selection and price, with something for every budget. The wines by the glass include half a dozen pours, including a fine French chardonnay and a syrah-grenache blend bearing the top toque's name, for less than $10. While the bottle choices are more worldly, the majority hail from California and France (Richard adores Rhone wines, and this list shows it).

I wasn't wearing rose-colored glasses when I ate here. Several dishes at Central resemble pale photocopies of Richard's trademark artwork. Friends and I admire the sheer golden pastry atop a chicken pot pie, even taking turns to examine its elegant cover, but no one wants more than a bite of the filling, whose timid seasoning and blank poultry suggest Swanson, rather than the work of one of the country's best chefs. And while the buttery puddle of polenta that comes with a lamb shank is ultra creamy, and the inky reduction of lamb jus and orange zest proves a sauce of distinction, the haunch of meat is as routine as a Simon Cowell crack on "American Idol." Despite a sprinkling of lardons, a soft, wet side dish of Brussels sprouts suggests it came from an English boarding school rather than a fine French restaurant. (Macaroni and cheese, on the other hand, manages to elevate that popular starch from common to classy. The trick: aged Cheddar, Swiss cheese and sour cream.)

Half the restaurant's space is devoted to the dining room, and half is split between the bar and an exhibition kitchen. Central's palette is understated in soothing shades of coffee and wood, the better to keep the focus on the food, but its design includes nice touches, including a glass-enclosed wine "cellar," (way in the back) shimmering copper curtains to set some tables apart and Richard's profile etched onto glass panels. There doesn't seem to be a Siberia, judging from where the VIPs (Kitty Kelley, Rahm Emanuel) have been sprinkled on my visits. But if you're a gastronaut, the place to aim for is a table with a view of the cooks. The way they noiselessly dance around one another is impressive.

For such a new restaurant -- Central breezed into place in December -- service is surprisingly free of rough patches. "We trained for a month," I overhear a server tell a diner. The investment shows.

Given Richard's rsum, diners expect something special to close a meal, and they get it with Central's lofty orange souffle, robed in dark chocolate at the table, and, on the other end of the spectrum, with a sugar-dusted apple pan dowdy whose light and flaky crust alone is worth ordering the dessert. A carryover from the mother ship in Georgetown is an elegant riff on the Kit Kat bar (although Central's version is almost as long as a ruler, so you better share the confection). The weak link in this gold chain is the banana split, big and colorful but, ultimately, merely pleasant. Its best asset is its glossy caramel sauce.

Why another restaurant, and why now? Richard, who turned 59 earlier this month and is one of the country's most-imitated chefs, could easily rest on his many laurels if he so chose. "Getting older," he explains. "I like to have a place with younger people. It will keep me younger, maybe." Central, he adds, represents "the democratization of Citronelle."

No joke.