The service was not what I had hoped for. Plates were placed perfectly in unison, water glasses filled promptly and unobtrusively, no one hovered, and many little things were done exactly right. However, our server was impersonal to a fault. As dishes were presented, he recited components in a cursory fashion (not counting the courses he didn’t bother to do even that) and his lack of warmth simply didn’t invite queries, much less conversation.
I start off with a precis of our only real criticism because the rest of this review will sound a completely different note. The meal we had at Les Nomades two days ago was the best meal I’ve had this year, bar none. Probably in the top three or four meals I’ve had in Chicago in twenty-five years. Presentation, execution, appeal, taste...it was that good.
Lord knows that wasn’t my expectation going in. I last ate at Les Nomades about a dozen years ago, perhaps a year or two after Mary Beth Liccioni opened it to the public in the mid-1990s. I don’t remember much about that meal, though, save for the room.
I would never have thought to choose Les Nomades. It was not on my radar. But then, this was my birthday dinner and the Lovely Dining Companion chose and told me at the last moment. I’ve learned to trust her judgment. Ignoring my vigorously professed lack of interest in Alinea, she went ahead and took us to dinner there a few years ago. And so I’ve learned to trust her judgment. She knows my tastes better than I do.
We went to Les Nomades Saturday night without many preconceptions. We were taken upstairs, a smaller, darker, quieter room. Given the restaurant’s reputation (at least its one-time reputation) for serving a specific older, moneyed, clientele, I was surprised that most of the diners (at least upstairs) were in their 30s-50s. We were a bit dismayed to find that on a Saturday night the restaurant was, at most, three-quarters full. The lighting—at least upstairs—is subdued and the sound level is (in Phil Vettel’s word) hushed. Quite. The food is French, classic with a modern twist. Old-fashioned as only a 36-year-old chef (
Chris Nugent) could make it. Well, lemme tell you: for all its old-school touches, this is not your father’s Les Nomades. Not by any stretch of the imagination. At least not to judge by our experience.
The menu is not extensive: six appetizers, four first courses. Then a choice of two fish or six meats. And yet eleven desserts. You also have a choice of four courses for $115 or five courses for $130. (There is also a chef’s tasting for $165 and boy, am I sorely tempted.) We both opted for the four-courses.
A few notes: we have no photographs because the menu, at the very bottom, requests that diners not use cell phones, cameras, and so forth. In keeping with the distinctively genteel atmosphere, I decided that the least I could do was to simply honor the request without quibbling. So I did, though I am terribly sorry not to have pictures.
Bread service was a bit disappointing. Particularly when compared to, say, L2O. The bread was very good and enjoyable, but it clearly isn’t accorded the same extraordinary attention that it is at a few other places. It would have been nice, too, if the bread hadn’t simply been placed on the table. Perhaps someone might have taken a moment to describe to us what the different breads were. But no one bothered. Disappointing and in keeping with the somewhat disengaged service.
Still, we didn’t go for the bread service and, whatever our issues with that portion of our experience, you won’t hear a peep from me about the dinner. Not a single plate presented to us was less than stunning. Each was beautifully composed, designed with care, thought, and precision. Colors, textures, shapes, and sizes all worked to compose highly attractive plates, inviting—indeed, demanding—that you dig in.
Dinner began on a high note: the amuse was roasted corn soup with a cheese-filled “crouton.” Impossibly rich, every nuance of the corn brought out, sweet as only perfectly ripe corn can be, a portion generous enough to enjoy without being too filling for what followed.
LDC began with “Herb roasted Maine lobster, Chantenay carrot purée, sugar snap peas, Madras curry natural jus.” (FWIW, a $10 upcharge.) I was generously allowed a single bite. Had it been my dish, I wouldn’t have been so generous. Impossibly rich and unctuous, set off nicely by the sharp sweetness of the peas, the curry jus a nice foil.
I chose the “Roasted veal sweetbreads, Spanish chorizo, smoked paprika and potato.” That hardly begins to describe this dish. Served with “potato.” “Potato” meant potato three ways: an ethereally light football-shaped potato puff (or, more precisely,
pommes soufflés) atop perfectly crisped veal sweetbreads. The sweetbreads, in turn, rested on confit potato rings baked in duck fat with a bit of garlic and thyme. Oh, did I mention that the potato rings were filled with Spanish chorizo? To the side, a beautiful design of whipped potato and veal reduction. The sweetbreads were dressed with a bit of sauce Foyot (tarragon and tomato paste which, though it may sound like a strange pairing, worked beautifully). Oh, and veal reduction also drizzled over the entire creation. (You can find the recipe, complete with small photograph,
online.)
These appetizers were stunning in every possible way. The performance was perfect. We were quite impressed and a bit anxious about what would follow. I could not imagine the entire dinner being sustained at this level.
I was wrong. And I have rarely been so happy to be so wrong. Next course: for the LDC, “Roasted Heirloom Tomato Soup, provençal vegetables, shrimp, goat cheese.” For a variety of reasons, I would not have selected the soup, so my impressions of it are a bit skewed. I liked it; indeed, it was again beautifully presented and offered a surprising depth of flavors. Most attractive of all was the freshness that burst through in a cooked soup. In the end, though, impressive as it was, I was pleased to have my choice: “Crispy farm egg, asparagus, morel mushroom, parmesan and Iberico ham.” Once again, an enticing, wonderfully composed presentation. A bed of perfectly poached white and green asparagus, atop which sat the egg—poached then breaded and very lightly crisped. Just enough to give it a crunch. That crunch, followed by the oozing yolk—a delight. To then top this all with a bit of morels, Spanish ham, and a few slices of parmesan. The only issue was composing each forkful so that a bit of everything made it to my mouth. We should all have such challenges.
The main courses: “Sautéed Kona Kampachi with sunchoke purée, Tokyo turnips, leeks, preserved truffle, langoustine jus.” A single bite was sufficient to convince me that I would have been equally happy with this entrée as my own. Cooked precisely, the fish came through beautifully, with accompaniments that truly accompanied. There were just a few other flavors but they complemented the fish, letting the fish be the star. With the possible exception of the jus. That jus was finger-licking good and had it been my plate, the kitchen wouldn’t have had to wash it. Rich, velvety, intense...as plush a sauce as I’ve had. And again, in the service of the kampachi. (By the way, what are “Tokyo” turnips? That’s a new one to us.)
I had “Veal tenderloin, wild mushroom ragoût, pommes purée, preserved lemon, sauce Périgueux.” Three slices of tenderloin each nestling atop a different bed. Given my enthusiasm for everything preceding, I think it best to say merely that this dish was lovely in every way. From the presentation to the execution, from the description to the tasting. There was not a single thing I would change. It was exceptional and I loved it.
Dessert was on a par with what preceded it in every way: beautiful presentations, exceptional food. LDC had a trio of crème brûlée: vanilla, chocolate, and passionfruit. While we agreed that chocolate doesn’t lend itself (at least to our palates) to crème brulee, there was no arguing with the execution. My fresh apple tart with green apple sorbet had to be pre-ordered. I love apple tarts in all their many varieties and incarnations and have had more than my share at some pretty fancy places over the years. While I’ve had a few that measured up in terms of quality, I can honestly say I’ve never had a better one than I did last night. Magnificent.
I think it only fair to return a moment to the service. It was not without faults. I ordered a glass of wine; LDC doesn’t drink alcohol. Her wine glass was removed. Did anyone take a moment to ask what she would like to drink? Does Les Nomades have only wine or water? I don’t think this is a nitpick. The mignardises were set down without a word—no identification, nary a word. Whether a server is warm or not is a matter of personal interaction and other imponderables. We found our server too cool. We can live with that. But I fault him for his presentation of the dishes. Don’t repeat what the menu says. Tell me what’s here, please. And for god’s sake, don’t present a dish and walk away. That happened at least once. I may not be a regular, I may not be spending hundreds of dollars on wine and I may not be your idea of the ideal customer. But let’s pretend, okay?
Phil Vettel
recently commented that “the default mode is reserved.” I think it’s a bit more than that. I think the default mode is disengaged. Professional, highly experienced, precise and correct. And disengaged. Expertise is a wonderful thing, but a little human warmth goes a long way and I only ever felt that we received that humanity from the staff who filled the water glasses and those who whisked away our empty plates. Even in those small tasks, they looked at us, engaged us however briefly, and smiled. They established a human connection that we never felt with our server. And that’s too bad. When a restaurant aspires to and meets such high standards in other respects, this is a fault.
When I first wrote this post, I was concerned that I might be being a bit overenthusiastic. But it has been several days now and I am not a whit less enchanted. While the evening wasn’t perfect (as our complaints with the service attest), I am truly hard-pressed to find fault with a single dish. As I look back on the meal and think about each course, I wonder to myself, “what would I wish had been done differently/better/another way?” I can’t think of a thing. I don’t know that anyone reading this post will have the same experience we had; we can only hope so. Good luck!
Gypsy Boy
"I am not a glutton--I am an explorer of food." (Erma Bombeck)