I’d been looking forward to a late graduation celebratory lunch with a younger member of the family at The Cottage in Greenwich, the new iteration of chef Brian Lewis’s jolly spot in Westport, and the welcome we received on arrival got us started on a good note.
No sooner seated by an enthusiastic staff member, a veritable army of willing wait-folk descended on the table, most of them asking the same questions (“Still, sparkling or tap?” “Allergies to be aware of?”), but all thoroughly good-natured and well-intentioned. As my late grandmother used to say, better to be looked over than overlooked.
The long room has a clean, sleek, almost Scandinavian aesthetic, with its scrubbed floors and blond-wood paneling. Customers, too, were mostly sleek and blond, so much so I wondered whether the restaurant had some kind of strategic alliance with L’Oréal.
I jest, of course. Seriously, the entire effect was calm and becalming and by the time my young guest had taken a few ladylike sips of her “All Bark No Bite” nonalcoholic cocktail (pineapple bark with maple and turmeric,) and I had taken a great slug of my “Squeaky Clean” frozen gin martini, we were both ready to get stuck in.
Spicy scallop tartare was a beautiful baby scallop sitting regally atop a perfect cube of crisp, hot sushi rice. It offered a brilliant contrast of texture and temperature, the rice hot and the scallop cold. Our server said, “Small bite, big flavor,” as he delivered it, and how right he was. In another starter, devilled eggs with potato, pickled shallots and black truffle again offered the magic of contrasting textures – the softness of the whipped yokes and the crunch of the potato slivers producing an exceptionally satisfying dish.
In the main courses, which arrived a little too quickly – our first course plates (one of them chipped) had barely been whisked away before the mains were set down – my guest said she was wild about her citrus cured-salmon tartine. In all ways the perfect guest, I told her I wanted her honest opinion. No, she insisted, she wasn’t simply being polite. She was adamant the salmon was wonderful, and sitting in luscious folds on crisp, grilled sourdough, those tell-tale griddle lines adding visually to the dish, I must say it looked it. She also said the accompanying horseradish crème fraîche was so good that although she had always sat on the fence about that particular condiment, from now on she was going to consider herself a signed-up member of the horseradish lovers club.
For me, a steaming, seasonal bowl of pho, comforting Vietnamese chicken noodle soup with lively greens and a nuoc cham spicy dipping sauce, did the trick. You could survive the Northeastern winter on this broth, no matter what the winter might have in store. Served alongside it, spiced Asian pear made for an interesting contrast, although some tired micro-greens were picked or plucked in vain. I couldn’t see their point.
Desserts are creative and sophisticated without in any way being abstruse. My guest opted for a hot fudge and peanut butter sundae, rich and indulgent. Personally, I was tempted by a bittersweet chocolate mousse with espresso cream and candied orange, or pineapple upside-down cake with candied macadamia nuts, Luxardo cherries and ginger gelato. But after due consideration, I decided to pass on dessert, going for an Amore y Amaro (sweet vermouth with smoky amaro) cocktail instead. To me, this seemed the perfect digestivo, and I enjoyed being able to see it being mixed from where we sat at our table by the bar.
That marble-topped bar, by the way, with all its pickles, mixers and botanicals on display, is a great spot for a solo lunch, the mirrored bar meaning you can sit there without missing any of the action taking place in the restaurant behind you. Hooks beneath the counter are also handy for coats, shopping bags, hats and any other winter paraphernalia you may be carrying.
At the far end of the restaurant, there is another counter with four bar stools, looking directly into the open kitchen. That’s great fun, too.
Back at our table, the early attention – a glut of it – had evaporated. For minutes on end, we didn’t see a server, let alone catch his or her eye, to order an espresso. And we struggled again to find someone to ask for the bill. (It always strikes me as adding insult to injury in a sense – not only having to actually pay the bill but having to fight to get it.) Still, we did find someone eventually and, as the two of us had a lot of ground to cover, we didn’t begrudge the extra time spent chatting.
Soon the early dinner crowd would start to arrive for cocktails and a dinner menu featuring more substantial entrées. And as the shadows outside lengthened, we got a sense of just how lovely this restaurant would be in the evening, too. Indeed, when a few days after our lunch I went online to book a table for dinner, I saw the restaurant was sold out for four days solid, which really says it all.
For more, visit thecottage.kitchen.
