Upon entering Le Bec-Fin, and being led down a winding staircase away from the garish opulence of the main restaurant, I couldn't help but feel like a third-class passenger on the Titanic. This was shortlived, as the subterranean Bar Lyonnais is seductively plush, oozing with class and authenticity. And much like DiCaprio in the movie, I had the real first-class indulgence brought down to me.
Indecisive about which was best, we opted for both the wild mushroom gnocchi ($11) and the black truffle risotto ($11). Though Italian, these are the sorts of dishes that any self-respecting French restaurant should be able to execute with nonchalant verve. Bar Lyonnais does so, but the daily special of Foie Gras ravioli ($24) eclipsed them both. The delicate pasta had its humorous little say, before succumbing to a gloriously fat explosion of foie gras, incestuously poached in duck consomme. The French onion soup ($9) was textbook; it struck the golden ratio of caramelized onions to broth, while the golden Gruy‹¨«re was recklessly melting all over the place.
On to mains, which is where Bar Lyonnais most convincingly distinguishes itself. Choucroute ($22) was as genuine a rendition as you will find this side of the Atlantic, stewed in enough gew‹¨«rztraminer wine to mitigate the sourness of the cabbage, without offending the meaty robustness that makes it such an iconic dish. From zesty blood sausage to ham hock of rare porkiness, all the requisite cuts of pig played their part in a glorious narrative on the subtleties of swine. Better still were the roasted veal medallions ($28), with creamy polenta and mushroom fricassee. These accoutrements were fine, but the veal itself was so absurdly succulent, that in the end they just got in the way, and had to be swept aside.
Desserts ($9 each) were a selection from the "legendary" dessert trolley of the main dining room, a vessel more worthy of fame than the cakes therein, which fluctuated wildly in quality. The Caradou (chocolate caramel mousse with hazelnut dacquoise) and the Marjolaine (almond hazelnut biscuit with chocolate and praline butter cr‹¨«me) didn't disappoint: in both cases, pastry of structurally unsound moistness was adhered by a lustrous cream filling. In contrast, the coffee cake was arid and had unfortunately been removed before the arrival of postprandial cappuccino, which was possibly the best I have ever had.
I wouldn't hesitate to recommend the bar over Le Bec-Fin itself. Whereas the restaurant proper is obsessed with phony curlicues, both on and off the table, Le Bar Lyonnais provides an experience that is comfortable and viscerally pleasurable.
