Exclusive restaurant review: Cezanne by Cezar Munteanu

Newsroom 14/06/2016 | 15:56

In the 12 years I have been writing for this newspaper, I have never mentioned a chef by name, neither to praise nor criticize him – never. As a food critic I have extended the same compliment to both great chefs and complete idiots, as I only named the House, but never the chef.

But not now! This so-called ‘chef’ has put his name to his House as a self-created ‘celebrity chef’ and as a result he is now exposed to ridicule.

His social media self-posts would have you believe he is a restaurant star, but no – a simple search exposes him as having zero provenance as a chef with the exception of working in a failed, communist-style hotel cooking Romanian saramale, mici etc, rather than the French delicacies he boasts on his menu.

But his menu is sensational, the best in town! Maybe the House downloaded it from the net from real European restaurants because I cannot believe this chef has the knowledge and experience to design it – because he cannot cook it.

Nor can he train his staff, for after we sat down with our initial juice, water and beer, our waiter took 20 minutes to reappear, resplendent with our expensive bottle of Chablis which was rendered worthless by being warm rather than chilled.

So off I started with a ‘duck soup with black truffle gnocchi’ (potato dumplings). Bullshit! It sounded sexy, but it was nothing more than dishwater impersonating a consommé, containing the residue of the unwanted duck from another House dish without any truffle whatsoever.

Blondie got lucky with a ‘sea bass in fennel sauce’ which was good. It is a simple combo blasted all over the net as the dish of the age. And that is where the House probably got its inspiration from, rather than being talented enough to create an original dish. But after that, our meal spiraled into a disaster.

I started with a ‘rack of lamb with a walnut crust and veal demi glaze on an eggplant cake.’ What a load of rubbish. There were far too many items in the description for the House to count, so zero walnut crust. This ‘chef’ has designed his pretentious menu from watching real Euro chefs on television and on the net. He is dreaming if he thinks he is in their class.

My lamb sounded sexy on his menu, but beyond belief, it was utterly devoid of any flavor whatsoever. I am a chef, and I defy any real chef to destroy the fabulous flavor of lamb. Hey House, how the hell did you destroy it?

So away to a ‘duck leg confit with caramelized Armagnac sauce and pommes duchesse’ (mashed potatoes).

Restaurants love putting a confit on the menu, because all the kitchen does is sloooow cook the duck leg in a swimming pool of its own fat and chill it. Thereafter it will happily live in a fridge for three months before you re-heat it. That is until two fools like Blondie and I order it at Cezanne, because the main attraction of the ‘caramelized Armagnac sauce’ was non-existent.

It was now clearly apparent that our strutting egotistical chef was nothing more than a domestic cook with no training in the sophisticated career he has embraced. And if you want proof, all the sins of a home cook were there: zero seasoning in any of his dishes, and no evidence of any understanding of sauces and wine-based additives.

But I was still hungry, and although all my senses screamed at me to quit and leave, I stupidly subjected myself to more gastronomic punishment by ordering a dessert of a classic ‘Pavlova’, recognized the whole world over as a thick layered meringue gateau of cream and fruit. But no, not here. It was a flat slice of fruit and custard!

Dear God, I was still hungry having left the food I was served. So, surely they cannot screw up a simple cheese plate. Oh yes they could!

Their triple combo was an unamusing joke, with a miniature golf ball of rock hard gorgonzola in a round musket ball of frozen cheese, together with a tiny slither of brie, which the House had warmed in the microwave. Utterly inexplicably, the last culprit was a mushy cream of PURPLE colored paste which they claimed was Roquefort.

Enough, I cannot take any more of this pretentious rubbish. The only good thing about this House of gastronomic delusion is that they have a wonderful sous chef, who plates up all the House disasters into something resembling a work of art.

Michael Barclay – Mab.media@dnt.ro

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