There are things about our trip over to Fig and Olive that I must say I really enjoyed. The service, for one thing, is incredibly attentive and not at all snooty. The food is good. Do not mistake me. But the atmosphere in there is just a little odd. Or maybe it’s just me.
I arrived early for the reservation, as usual, hauled my butt up onto a barstool and asked for a grapefruit juice. The bartender then proceeded to open up a sad little can of grapefruit juice and pour it on the rocks for me. Now, I know this sounds horrible, but is it too much to ask to have some Tropicana not-from-concentrate on hand at a trendy place like F&O? Does grapefruit juice not get used at a bar? Silly and odd.
Another odd thing was the “tasting” done of various kinds of olive oil when the bread tray was brought. A variety of oils is a grand idea, but the odd thing was the waitress being forced to describe each oil as if it was a fine Brunello di Montalcino, telling us what region of Tuscany the olives came from, and that we would be able to discern the slight hint of smoke and raisins, or peaches and lavender, or fill-in-the-blank. It’s olive oil, for feck’s sake! It tastes. Like. Olives. Yes, they did taste a little lighter or a little sweeter, but hints of pecans and green tea? But of course I don’t blame the waitress for this tomfoolery. I blame Top Chef. New Yorkers are all neurotic, now, about whether they have a good palate or not. In any case, they only bring a tablespoonful of each of three types, and four of us went through it in around 30 seconds.
I can’t really tease Fig and Olive too much, though, because they do a daily prix fixe irrespective of restaurant week. This is a beautiful thing to find outside the theatre district. And at $36, it’s virtually the restaurant week all year long.
The boys all went for the carpaccio appetizer, substituted this evening for the steak tartare they usually plan, and thought it was excellent. Marinated raw beef, 18 year old balsamic, and truffle olive oil. Since red meat is out for me, I went for the gazpacho which I found pretty good and fairly typical. The problem which gazpacho is that tomato is an incredibly strong flavor, and no matter what else you throw into gazpacho, it’s still just a symphony of cold tomato. No topnote of peaches or lavender, needless to say.
After the starter came a nice portion of branzino, cut into credit-card sized pieces, crisped up nicely, and resting on roasted figs and peapods. Assembled into a bite, it was really lovely, though someone in the kitchen had had a bit of a clumsy hand with the salt on the fish and I got a bit of a saline blast once or twice. Julio went for the shrimp and scallop paella, and the rice was a little al dente for his taste, but the flavor was right on. Robby popped for the chicken Paillard, which was the largest portion of the evening and absolutely tasty.
For dessert, the boys stayed true to form and went for the chocolate pot de crème, while I decided to be different and go for the dessert “crostini” – a shortbread cookie, some mascarpone, macerated cherries and the absolutely irresistible candied pistachio nuts.
You’ll notice that I didn’t say much about the wine list, but it’s only because I couldn’t drink, so I’ll tell you that the sauvignon blanc that Robby got hold of was reportedly good as gold. Wish I could have tried some.
I definitely recommend Fig and Olive for a lot of reasons. The food is good, the service is excellent, the price is right, the portions are not abnormally small for a prix fixe, and though it’s a bit noisy when the place is hopping, the atmosphere is congenial and fun. You’ll enjoy it; trust me.
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