Astral Plane had its share of ups and downs in the kitchen during its long run, from the strawberry soup and chicken Tropicana of its distant heyday to less successful adventures with blue cheese eggrolls in recent years. Disenchanted neighbors didn't call it the "Gastral Pain" for nothing.
But Apaghian's place never lacked for a uniquely warm and eccentric style. Wrapped in parachute-tented ceilings, cluttered with starlet photos, vintage robots, and rattan Morticia Addams chairs, it was a wheezing time capsule of '70s romantic corn.
And it was ready for a blood transfusion. Fischer was eager to sign on (even if this one didn't come with a liquor license, which Apaghian had already sold). The irresistibly bubbly owner of ChriStevens Catering Co., Fischer had operated a short-lived restaurant by the same name at Ninth and South Streets. This time around, she had a new partner named Clara Gomez and ambitions to move across town.
Who could know that the new Astral Plane Millenium's pizzazz would begin and end with those sunglasses? The renovated space is so starkly white and minimally austere, the word style doesn't really apply. Lights still glow invitingly from strands hung in the tree outside. But inside, it feels more like the shell of an old townhouse museum that's just been cleaned out. Only the back room's naughty chandelier (which does things with phallic lightbulbs I'd never have imagined) has been preserved.
Fischer says the light decorating touch is deliberate, to keep the focus on the food. But after a couple of dreary and overpriced meals, I really wish this kitchen would focus more on the food.
What was that viscous greenish ooze slicked across the raw scallop carpaccio? It's just parsley and oil, it turns out. But it accentuated the fishiness of the raw shellfish, which should typically be sweet. A steaming pile of sauteed scallops in the middle of the raw ones made it even worse.
