Upper Crust
At Praline, the true find is the pastry

By Tom Sietsema
Washington Post Magazine
Sunday, July 9, 2006

The new restaurant doesn't make itself easy to discover. Unlike seemingly every other eating establishment to open in Bethesda, Praline Bakery & Restaurant does a Greta Garbo in the Shoppes at Sumner Place. And judging from the cotton-candy-pink sign above its door, Praline might as well be serving 32 flavors of ice cream.

So the interior comes as a surprise: an airy bakery that includes a small granite bar and a scattering of tables, a few of which sit in front of a fireplace. Look up, into a well of light, and you'll find more to explore. A flight of stairs leads up two floors to a dining room that rings that atrium and spills out onto a brick courtyard, where wicker bistro chairs give Praline a French feel.

And Gallic it is. Chances are, your server speaks with a French accent. The menu he hands you includes a lineup of bistro favorites, and the chef who prepares much of your meal, Jean-Pierre Petit, turns out to be a veteran of the reliable Bistro Francais in Georgetown. One of the two owners, pastry chef Patrick Musel, is French, too, though he's just arrived from Filomena, the Italian restaurant in Georgetown where his business partner, Susan Limb, also cooked. (Got all that?)

The important thing to know about Praline is pastry: Be sure to order any dish that comes with a crust. If you've experienced a chicken potpie only from the freezer case of a grocery store, Praline's version will be a revelation. Its cap is a golden dome -- crisp, flaky and good enough to eat by itself. Tear away the puff pastry with your fork, and you'll discover more goodies: chunks of chicken, sweet carrots and peas bound in a light bechamel sauce. A fricassee of seafood -- carefully cooked scallops, shrimp and mussels -- is decked out with a similar crust, and the entree is richer still for its delicate cream sauce that tastes like the essence of the seafood. And, in one of my favorite starters, shredded duck is slipped between an envelope of pastry and presented with a pinch of frisee and orange gastrique (a reduction of vinegar, sugar and citrus), accents that neatly counter the richness of the confit.

Other appetizers appear as if they were made in a lesser kitchen. Gazpacho is blood-red and dusky, with far too much vinegar to be refreshing, while a beige-and-white lobster bisque is as faint in flavor as it is in color. Chilled shrimp come with both a traditional cocktail sauce and biting bits of lime aspic. The idea sounds better on paper than it translates on the tongue. Better to start a meal with a salad. Praline's twist on the ubiquitous toss of spinach includes diced mango, dried cranberries and crumbles of blue cheese. In light of the heartier main courses, the salad makes a more suitable launch. (On the other hand, if you're here to eat French, a plate of snails drenched in garlic butter is pretty hard to resist.)

The kitchen picks up steam with the second course, and there's something for everyone. A thin but juicy minute steak gets a flavor boost from a coin of herbed butter on top, as well as a handful of long, thin, skin-on french fries. Crunchy fennel seeds fleck a square of cod, positioned on ultra-buttery mashed potatoes and ringed with a pale green parsley sauce. Chicken served forestiere-style honors simplicity and tradition: The poultry is moist, its sauce a gentle merger of cream, white wine and sliced mushrooms. The list of specials might include sweetbreads. If you're an offal fan, splurge on the old-fashioned treat, which came with loose cakes of sauteed potatoes and mushrooms and a fine madeira sauce when I sampled it. The lone snoozer during my visits -- indeed, the Ambien among main courses -- was a dull lamb shank surrounded by a moat of slightly sweet white beans and a wimpy roasted tomato.

Praline's decorating allowance seems to have gone mostly to the wall flanking the stairs, which is covered with wallpaper depicting ingredients and cooking utensils. Otherwise, the space is free of art or much in the way of frills, just some eggplant-colored carpet and walls that are alternately sponged orange or yellow. Meanwhile, the soundtrack is comically all over the map; in the space of a few minutes, I've heard Willie Nelson give way to Rosemary Clooney give way to ragtime. On a comfort note, if you're not on the patio, expect to have as much privacy as you would on an airplane. The tables are that close.

Service can be hit or miss. One slow weeknight, the staff seemed too busy gossiping with one another to mind the dining room. (Um, can somebody PUHleeeeze take our order? Chill our warm wine?) Another time, I watched with admiration as the crew saved table settings and customers from getting soaked by deftly shuttling everyone from the terrace moments before a sudden squall. Of the trio of chefs onboard, Limb, who divides her time between the ground-floor bakery and the dining room above, is the most visible, enthusiastically chatting up diners and even delivering food.

Musel's handiwork keeps me in my seat after the entree plates are cleared. The pastry chef's chocolate- and coffee-rich opera cake is music to the tastebuds, and his pear tart is a quiet celebration of fruit, puff pastry and almond cream. On my way out, I'm tempted to buy a little treat from among the pastries, cookies and cakes lining the bakery case. Oh, the lemon bars are heavy and achingly sweet, but the thin chocolate chip cookies, flaky apple danish and fragile, raspberry jam-filled palmiers prove gentle addictions.

I used Mapquest to locate Praline the first time. From then on, I just followed my appetite.