A Night At The Mansion

If there is a man who walks through the world as if it were his own creation, it is Joel Robuchon. If you don’t know who Joel Robuchon is, stop reading right now and Google his name. You have no right reading a site devoted to food until you understand the gravity of the Chef I am talking about.

Few chefs in the world command the gastronomic respect that Joel Robuchon possesses. He is culinary royalty. Named Chef of the Century, Robuchon had retired in 1996, leaving to speculation that he was tiring of cranking out masterpieces, and that the pressure and relentless pace was taking its toll. He emerged from retirement to quietly open L’Atelier in Tokyo. If you want to eat at a Robuchon restaurant in the United States, you can now go to Las Vegas.

So, is there a bigger story here than just our dinner at The Mansion? Sort of. Las Vegas has steadily lured all the top chefs and celebrity chefs from around the world, and positioned itself as one of the dining destinations. No longer do you need to travel to Paris or New York to be overwhelmed by a culinary master, Las Vegas has culled all that talent into a 2 mile stretch of The Strip. MGM nailing Robuchon was the stunning Coup of the Century.



What about his only American foray? Well, I tried going to his official site, to read more on his background, but it was in Japanese. So, we see his international focus does not necessarily start with the U.S.

We arrived a bit earlier than our reservations, entering through two massive glass and mahogany doors situated off the casino floor in a corner of the MGM, right next to Robuchon’s other restaurant, the more casual L’Atelier. L’Atelier is a French influenced tapas bar.

The Mansion is a museum, an exceedingly opulent room, like any post-modern ballroom you’ve been in. The color palette is dominated by black and deep lavender. And when I say black, I mean blaque. Lalique vases punctuate the sleek architecture and play off the riveting art that adorns the wall. Truly, the Mansion is an environment to be envied. Walking through the front door, we were immediately transported to another time and place, and that place would be Paris, the time, 1923.

We were seated immediately, and there is such a sensory overload, that it takes a few moments to inhale the atmosphere.



Obviously, those are stock photos because I didn’t have enough influence to get everybody to leave the dining room. As we were admiring the soothing display of artwork, they carefully placed the menus in front of us and took our drink order.



Ahh, clean, cold and refreshing. It may be heresy to dodge wine during a proper French meal, but a martini is an acceptable substitute. Between sips, I looked over the menu, which was written in French, and offered English subtitles to describe the food.



We were essentially to be piloted through this meal, since there are only two choices for dinner. The six-course dinner and the Herculean sixteen-course Winter Tasting Menu. We opted for the smaller dinner, although after the fact I realized the portion size would have been controlled perfectly so as not to bloat us with sixteen courses. Here is a complete recounting of the Winter Tasting Menu, our dishes are pulled from the same menu, just less of them.

La Pomme: Apple pearl, vodka granite.
Le Caviar Oscietre: Osetra caviar with haricots vert salad, lemon grass.
Le Foie Gras: Fois gras, mille-feuille of smoked eel with oriental flavors.
Le Thon: Tuna tartar, cold red bell pepper confit with bergamot and dry cured ham.
La Truffle: Black truffle in a hot pastry, onions and smoked ham.
Le Parmigiano Reggiano: Parmesan and vegetable veloute with black truffle.
L’Epinard: Mille feuille of spinach, truffle and tofu, parsley coulis.
Les Aromates: Medley of aromates in a mild spicy broth.
La Grenouille: Frog leg fritter with baby chanterelles.



L’Amadai: Amadai in a lily bulb broth.
Le Turbot: Roasted turbot “on the bone” with celeriac and truffle stew.
Le Homard de Bretagne: Brittany lobster under a disappearing saffron hostie in a seafood bouillon
Le Canard: Duck confit with potatoes, truffled cappuccino
L’Epeautre: Sault wild oatmeal, black truffles, gold leaf.
Le Coing: Quince compote Amaretto, ginger ice cream, yogurt and Champagne mousse.
Le Chocolat: Warm chocolate, coffee perfumed cocoa morsels

The six course dinner is a cozy $185 per person, and The Winter Tasting Menu clocks in at a heart stopping $350, each without wine pairings. They actually do not offer a pairing menu.



It took the bread cart guy about ten minutes to describe all the various bread to us. They were delicate and vibrant, each one crusted to perfection, and using flavor combinations I never would have thought of. Some examples are gruyere baked roll, saffron bread, olive and tarragon, milk bread and sugar cheese.



The thing that looks like a lemon is, in fact, saffron bread. Saffron threads clung to the outside and permeated throughout the dough. They did not skimp on the saffron, which is easily the most expensive thing in the world, let alone compared to other food. The bread was heavy with the aroma and color of saffron, easily the most saffrony item ever to pass my lips. Of all the varieties, my favorite were the mini bacon baguettes.



I could easily write an article on the bread alone. There is simply a dizzying array of sensually crafted bread that I was afraid to eat because I didn’t want to fill up.

The plates are masterfully arranged, each dish a spectacular work of art. Small art. Our amuse bouche was La Pomme: Apple pearl caressed by vodka granite. The choreographed presentation has a theatrical quality, our servers swooping in and circling the plates in front of us, simultaneously. We were not just being fed, we were being entertained.



The single bite was a refreshing pick me up, balancing the tartness of the apple pearls with the bite from the vodka. It was incredibly refreshing, with the perfectly symmetrical apple pearls popping off the tip of my tongue, like sweet caviar. Clearly more dense, it had a nice grip on the teeth, with apple flavor bursting over my tongue, primed by the vodka. We were warned not to eat the apple. I felt like Eve.



They quickly whisked our plates away, and we were again presented with the bread cart.



One thing I did notice, and this is indicative of fine dining, is that people get very serious. Everyone in the room was pensive and deliberate. I’m not talking about the staff, they are exceedingly attentive and helpful, I’m talking about the curmudgeons next to us. We were, not surprisingly, some of the younger people, and I was having a blast deconstructing and analyzing the food, reveling in the taste, taking clandestine pictures of the food and the space, admiring the décor. Others would sit there and scowl at each other between tense bites of caviar, and I wonder if they lost their zeal for life. Old, wealthy and lifeless.



It was in that very moment, feasting on majestic and artful food, in such a glamorous setting, that I realized we are living during an American renaissance. No, not because Robuchon has opened his restaurant on the North American Continent.

It’s because I consider myself lucky enough to live in a time and a country where someone is willing to extend me enough credit that I can recklessly blow it on meaningless crap like this. But, before I could start analyzing my conspicuous consumption a nanosecond longer, the second course arrived, Le Foie Gras.



My wife’s hatred of eel and fatted duck liver is her misfortunate and my exuberant luck. I got to eat two portions, and that is a great thing. The layers of the mille fuille bound the rich creaminess of the eel and foie gras. The pairing was incredible, and it is a wonder why this wouldn’t be formally adopted by everyone, it is such a natural and obvious pairing. The sweetness of the eel and fatty richness of the foie gras was cut by the truffled foam that lightened the overall taste.



My only complaint about this dish was the oversalting of the spun apple salad. Actually, that is my biggest complaint of the entire evening. Certain vital side dishes suffered from a bit of heavy salting, which really masked instead of highlighting some of the flavors.



Things started heating up during the third course, La Parmeiano Reggiano. This had a spectacularly strong drive of flavor. The presentation was gorgeous.



Robuchon likes his foams. Now, foams have been chic for about two years, and they are relegated to the finer establishments, not having trickled down to the Spearmint Foam McFlurry. I understand the physics of foam. The airy structure of foam allows air to permeate the delicate flavor, and is released in a quick burst when it quickly melts on the tongue. Perhaps it’s been all those habaneros I’ve eaten, but the foam didn’t contribute to the flavor.



Black truffle was sprinkled liberally throughout the foam, but the skin of black truffle is not where the essence is, so there wasn’t the distinctive, nutty truffle flavor. At the bottom of the dish was a parmesan flan which really conveyed a lot of character when balanced against the foam. Maybe that was the intention, so have a hearty flavor underneath cut by the froth on top.

The soup itself tasted like parmesan rind had been simmering for hours, a solid way to imbibe strong flavor to a soup.

More bread, and another martini.



The next offering was Le Turbot, which I thought was a Transformer named “Tur-Bot.” Lo and behold it was a center cut filet of turbot, crusted nicely and adorned with microjulienned black truffle. This was a mild tasting, fresh fish swimming in a briny broth. Again, the heavy handed sous chef was a tad exuberant with the salt. It cut nicely with the fish, which is a mild fish, and offset the celeriac and sweet chestnuts.

Now, that was an interesting twist. I’ve never had chestnuts that I’m aware of, and, like garlic, becomes sweet when slow cooked. This was a very intriguing flavor that added a dimension to the overall palette of the truffle broth.



The crescendo arrived with all deliberate flair. I cannot tell you what Le Name is, because, now that I evaluate the picture, it is not reflected on the souvenir menus they provided us, along with a gift bag. I don’t know if they remembered this, but we ordered the white trash six course meal, but we received the full blown Regal Winter Tasting Menu, complete on shiny lavender 30# stock paper.

So, let’s call it L’Veal.



Caging a calf does wonders for tenderness and flavor. It was juicy and properly sauced to allow the delicate flavor of the veal to creep through. The roasted garlic pillow upon which the lavender rested was a sweet interlude from the *sigh* overly salted pesto noodles. In this case I’m glad I was underwhelmed with flavor.




Delicate flavors shouldn’t be enshrouded in a heavy sauce, so I nodded in affirmation that the light demi only hinted extensive flavor, not bludgeoned the eater over the head. Yes, the pesto had a sharp salt flavor that took away from the balance, so I saved it until the end.




As we settled into dessert, they whisked us away with a variety of chocolates. Instead of petit fours, it was petit nines.



These were spectacular tides of disparate chocolate flavors. There was an unbelievable distinctiveness to each bite that brought a great rush.



To conclude, a bassinet of caramel hugged a savory football of espresso ice cream. It was sharp and not too sweet, which paired well with the caramel.



So, did Master Robuchon deliver a masterful evening of distinctive and exciting dishes. There were certainly interesting flavors, but I felt a surprising lack of innovative flavors. I know, sometimes experiment can marry two or more ideas with disastrous consequences, but I felt they were playing it a bit safe. Shaving black truffle over everything might be a delicate touch with a nod to opulence, but if it doesn’t contribute anything to the flavor, it misses the mark.



I don’t insist that everything on the plate adds to the flavor, there are legitimate garnishes that appeal strictly to the eye, and not the palate. Overall, I thought the food was thoughtfully prepared, exquisite and artful. But it lacked the unique flavors I would expect out of the “Chef of the Century.”

The space was superlative, as was the staff. Outstanding and cognizant of every patron, there is certainly no lack of attention without veering into intrusion. They were omniscient and friendly. The design and detail are impeccable and vibrant.

The food is good, certainly above average, but didn’t achieve the spectacularly high bar I set for a chef of that reputation. It may be growing pains, it has been open less than a year, so I am certainly game for another shot. I am still looking forward to The French Laundry, and I’ll chalk this one up as a nice diversion. Give it a year, let it mature, and let’s see if it changes the culinary landscape of the West Side.

As a parting gift, they gave us printouts of the aforementioned menus and a huge brioche wrapped in lavender cellophane. I'm sure it will taste delightful.