From May 2001

Housed in a corner of the late, lamented Garfinckel's department store, Butterfield 9 is a study in understated elegance: The imposing columns that frame the downstairs dining room are relieved of austerity by a veneer of pale wood; multi-tiered iron railings flank the staircase leading to the mezzanine dining room; and black-and-white high-fashion photographs contrast with the soft tones of the upholstery.

While the setting is understated, chef Martin Saylor's version of Modern American cooking is a chaotic mixture of borrowed styles and trendy flavors. On his changing menu you will find examples of everything from East-West fusion to the flavored oils originated by New York superchef Jean-Georges Vongerichten.

Saylor directs a kitchen that displays a high degree of technical proficiency, and the menus high prices allow him to work with premium-quality ingredients. What weakens most creations is an inability to find the thread that will bring a harmonious unity to those ingredients.

It takes a number of visits to chance upon a first course worthy of expectations. A salad of duck confit is candied up with cubes of sweet potato and pecan-cranberry relish; the creation reduces the duck to thin shreds without a trace of the crisp skin that is part of the pleasure of eating duck confit. The flavor of the crab in a tiny crabcake is lost in the buttery bread crumbs, smothered onions, and julienned carrots; a topping of roasted-garlic butter; and a decorative piping of sun-dried-tomato aïoli sauce.

Take a plate bearing a single small squid: Its body is stuffed with diced chorizo, its tentacles are crisply fried, and both are presented atop a guacamolelike mash of avocado. The squid is overpowered by both its stuffing and its garnish. The $8 price for three or so bites was reminiscent of Yannick Cam's worst excesses at Le Pavillon during the 1980s.

The Foie Gras Pancake is a house signature that brings a smile to the face of the waiter when you order it. It is a circular container of pastry with a texture resembling that of Yorkshire pudding, dabbed with mango relish and topped with a dainty rectangle of fresh foie gras. Despite the luxury of its main ingredient--which had been cooked at too low a temperature to caramelize its exterior, thereby creating the effect of eating a spoonful of fat--the dish is reminiscent of toad-in-the-hole, a traditional British specialty of sausages baked in Yorkshire pudding batter.

After all these misses, a final visit to Butterfield 9 yielded a hit among the first courses: gnocchi intensely perfumed with white truffles, their soft texture contrasted with barely cooked slices of button mushrooms. A sprinkling of shredded Parmesan reinforces the cheeselike nature of the truffle-suffused potato dumplings.
Saylors penchant for overelaboration is even more evident in the main courses. In one he attempts to combine three courses on one plate: A corn-clam chowder serves as a cloying sauce for baked cod crusted with brandade--a mixture of flaked salt cod, potatoes, garlic, and milk--a first course traditional to Provence.

Preparations traditional to our region, such as flounder stuffed with crabmeat, may have been considered too plain to be served in so sophisticated a setting. But the wisdom of simplicity should not be ignored: The timid flavor of the fish emphasizes the natural sweetness of the crab rather than competing with the more luxurious ingredient. In Saylor's pan-roasted filet of rockfish, the flavor of the crab is dulled by mixing backfin lumps with cubed potatoes to make a hash over which the fish is presented.

Saylor does offer a couple of main courses that owe their success to simplicity. Barbecued salmon is an impeccably cooked rectangle of fish glazed with a caramelized, spicy-sweet-sour sauce and presented over vegetable-studded couscous. It is a good example of culinary diplomacy in which the American South and North Africa achieve an entente cordiale: The acid and spice of the sauce curtail the oiliness of the salmon, which shows at its best against the gentle background of the couscous.

Saylor reinterprets the Neapolitan version of saltimbocca--veal scallopine layered with prosciutto and mozzarella, moistened with a briefly cooked tomato sauce--by substituting air-dried beef and fontina for the traditional cured ham and cheese and replacing the rustic saute of tomatoes with an urbane truffle sauce. While it does not improve on the classic, the result is a thoroughly pleasant dish.

Like many upscale restaurants, Butterfield 9 offers a cheese plate as an alternative to dessert. Although the selections presented at one occasion--Humbolt Fog, tomme de Savoie, and white cheddar--were in prime condition, they would have been better had they been served at room temperature rather than straight out of the refrigerator.

The waiters enthusiastically suggest the coconut panna cotta for dessert. This version of the eggless Italian custard is faint in flavor, too gelatinous in texture, and upstaged by its garnish of tropical fruits including a segment of banana with a crème brûlée crust of caramelized sugar. The dessert of choice is a chocolate-pecan tart topped with a generous scoop of wonderful Armagnac ice cream.