Breakfast, lunch and dinner at Tiffany’s

Each syllable in the name has a delectable taste that rolls off the tongue in perfect harmony, leaving one to wonder how fantastic the food must be. After two and half years of living in Boston, I was finally going to make my hajj to the locavore’s mecca: L’Espalier. The name of the restaurant alludes to a cellist who plays music to control the directions in which roses and vines grow (similar to the abilities of a snake charmer), and, like an obedient bud, I was lured to the song of L’Espalier, laced with promises of French fare and phenomenal service. And, because of their participation in Boston’s Restaurant Week offering a $40 prix fixe, my fantasy was to be finally consummated on a Monday night at 8:30.

Three cheery hostesses immediately greeted my date and I after an elevator ride to the second floor, but only one led us to our table ‘-‘- a very private two-top overlooking Boylston Street. The seats were plush and the d’eacute;cor was soothing ‘-‘- cr’egrave;me fraiche-colored walls framed a dimly lit room housing darker, minimalist accents. Our server, Kevin, was incredibly approachable and knowledgeable about everything on the menu, its most ideal pairing and what he personally recommends. After he finished his greeting schpiel, a woman came around with a basket of house-baked breads ‘-‘- I chose the candied fig and my date opted for the sourdough. Mine had soft pieces of subtly sweet fruit, which speckled the grainy bread, but I vowed not to stuff myself with carbs in my usual ritual. Tonight I had to show some restraint, at least until the entr’eacute;e.

I opened the leather-bound menu expecting rays of light to shoot out onto my face, but instead I found myself holding up the measly pamphlet inside that read ‘Restaurant Week Prix Fixe.’ Disregarding all judgments, I quickly scanned the list, expecting to be salivating with every vowel. However, the first courses promised were uninspiring, the most noteworthy option a garlicky onion soup that my date chose. I needed to indulge, so I took advantage of their replacement offering ‘-‘- one can choose anything off the usual $82 degustation menu for an additional $12. I selected the foie gras, which came with an unusual side of spicy, fried falafel. The portion sizes were decent, about two ounces of liver, and the combination worked unexpectedly well. The crunchy shell of the falafel and the creamy chick pea gave the liver more density, but it was certainly more mediterannean than French.

Similar to the first-course options, the entrees were so-so. One could choose between a poached salmon or a spring chicken ‘-‘- both seemingly basic for a restaurant heralded as the best in Boston by many gourmands. When my salmon came, it was perfectly cooked and apparent that it was wild-caught, not farm-raised (which was a relief). I was also given a somewhat-archaic fish knife, which was a pretty obvious showpiece and not necessary. The fish was good, but it was salmon. A freshman who smuggled a hotpot into their Rich Hall dorm room could produce similar results, but alas ‘-‘- I was at L’Espalier! Maybe dessert would thrill me.

The only option on the prix fixe was the usual go-to: chocolate cake. But after looking at the dessert menu, the mocha soufflee with chocolate gelato sung to me. It was tasty trio ‘-‘- a spongy canelle, similar to a porous, vanilla pound cake shared the plate with a creamy chocolate gelato sitting on a bed of hazelnuts, and a miniature mocha soufflee, which melted on the spoon. However, for (another) additional $12, I should have just stuck with the cake.

Overall, the experience was satisfactory. The service was definitely the cake-taker and the food was nicely prepared, but certainly not as French as I had assumed it would be. Instead, the menu was New England-centric, implementing elements of European gastronomy in technique and ingredients. The sweet music of L’Espalier was nice to experience, but I’m not too sure how often I’ll find it on my playlist.