The palate here is beguiled by the intensity and lightness of new-world cooking - a demitasse of pure green fluid called "lamb's quarter" gazpacho fills the mouth with the bracing richness of wild spinach; lobster tail leaps from a swirl of arugula juice with an anise dusting of orange zest powder.
By then, the sudden reappearance of old-fashioned cream is stunning, napping fresh morel mushrooms that are spooned out generously over a raft of asparagus. It is cream revisited as flavor, not a reflex. And it will hum in your taste buds' memory for days to come.
Just as designer Adam Tihany gave new angles to the round white plates with the clean stroke of a silvery inlaid line or geometric shape, Jean Georges' kitchen takes new angles on food, plumbing sublime flavors from seemingly simple but unexpected combinations.
Scallops topped with cauliflower florettes, for example, were illuminated by their sauce, a piquant emulsion of equal parts of raisin, caper, grapeseed oil and water.
Long before Vongerichten's namesake effort, in the Trump International Hotel and Tower, was named the best new restaurant in the country by the James Beard Foundation in 1998, gushing reports from trusted friends, chefs and colleagues had piqued my interest. A memorable meal at the chef's East Side bistro, Jo Jo, epitomized for me the charm of inventive townhouse cooking. A long-ago dinner at Vong, his stylish but contrived take on French-Thai fusion, left me less impressed. But Jean Georges, my friends assured me, was the high-polish distillation of this great chef's powers.
How could I not find out for myself that it was, in fact, true?
I would not call Jean Georges romantic. Even if the air conditioning had not been set to ice our table down, I would not call it warm.
