It's rare you find a restaurant that does everything right. One that can transform a mere meal into a truly exceptional dining event, where every detail is seamlessly carried out and the food so exceptional that you as a diner only focus on your enjoyment of it.I wish I could say this about PB Boulangerie in Wellfleet, Mass. The food is bang on, top shelf, fantastic. The service so lacking it's silly. A friend thinks it's on purpose. Done so the stand out dishes stand up for the attention they deserve. I don't buy it.
Perhaps there's a volunteer organization on the Cape that helps servers with special needs find employment. I suppose the training program is horribly underfunded.
The decor of the newly opened bistro, just off route 6, hits the right mix of comfortable and chic. Mustardy yellow walls adorned with copper jelly molds, Parisian posters and even a horseshoe crab wall sconce create a warm and casual room. Sage green booths edge dark cherry wood tables on one side while a snaking bar caps the other. Bar patrons have the best view of the open kitchen where Chef Philippe Rispoli executes some of the best food found anywhere I've eaten on this sand dune.
Cooks in crisp white jackets and royal blue caps move effortlessly in their stations preparing deliciously simple plates, like shaved prosciutto, Parmigiano Reggiano and melon--triangles of cantaloupe cut so thin you can see through them--all strewn out on a long bed of peppery baby arugula.
And while the kitchen staff seem relaxed and confident the servers look as if one false move might land them in an over sized stock pot for tomorrow's soup du jour. Our waiter, red faced and perspiring, loses his train of thought on his opening line.
"Would you like something to drink or. . .,"
Or what? Were not sure.
Bottled water is poured almost immediately but our cocktails take another 20 minutes before they're in front of us, delivered finally by the hostess we befriend.
Serving is not an easy job but at a restaurant where the food is so exceptional, (a lemony tuna ceviche shines on a raw platter of local oysters and clams) a good waiter can guide his customers through the evening with ease, knowing whatever item they order will please them.
Our petrified server just can't seem to get it together; we don't get to taste the bottle of wine we order he just pops the cork and pours. Empty glasses linger on our table until we physically hand them to someone passing by. We're sure she worked there though, her face also visibly stressed.
But the faux pas don't start and end with our server, there's other oddities at play. A basket of house baked bread, including an amazingly soft and crunchy cranberry batard (a bastardized baguette) arrives with a dipping plate of churned butter, olive oil and an ice wine vinegar, yet side plates seemed to be 86'd from the room. We haven't been overlooked, they're not on anyone's table.
When a complimentary platter of amuse bouche is delivered--toasted country bread squares topped with thin slices of creamy foie gras and dollops of red pepper marmalade--again, no plates accompany it. Drips of jam run down our fingers and finally end up staining our place mats.
Hot-out-of-the-dishwasher plates are set down in front of us before the chilled platter of seafood arrives; and it's only when the table is reset with salad forks and knives that we realize we ate our apps with dinner silverware.
None of this matters at a truck stop diner or say, a Denny's, because it's well, cheap and easy. Twenty eight bucks for a seafood platter deserves to be served with side plates that won't cook the clams. I guess having plates at all should have made us happy.
It's a good thing Rispoli's cooking can shut up even the most judgmental of patrons. We're silent except for a few contented sighs when our entrees arrive. Buttery roasted cod tops pureed potatoes and leeks and wins the entree war, while a seared tuna encrusted with black pepper and served over crunchy veggies in a light yet fragrant broth is a close runner up.
The portion of shrimp risotto could use a little more heft but its fresh lemon flavour and perfect consistency make up for its size, though the spring peas were a little more al dente then they should have been.
Rispoli's best was actually saved for last. Tender crepes Suzette swim in a pool of vibrant orange flavoured syrup, their combined heat melting a single scoop of vanilla-flecked ice cream. A dark chocolate cream accompanies a baseball-size beignet, a warm and chewy vehicle for the intense sauce.
At this point our waiter has been banned from our table--the mutual loathing so evident Rispoli's wife steps into finish serving us. We cringe for a moment thinking we've perhaps been a little too harsh, then come to our senses. If the food wasn't so good we wouldn't be so critical.
