Review: Amuse

There was a postcard from the now defunct Fleur de Lis Café that said it all. It was a photo of chef/owner Lenny Robinson, dozing on the banquette of the Parisian-inspired bistro, a glass of red wine balanced precariously on his belly. I believe the phrase “laissez-faire” was scrawled across the photo.

I loved Fleur de Lis, and that postcard (or what it stood for) had a lot to do with it. Robinson was an old-school chef, the kind I came up under while working in restaurants: a drinker, a grump, a hedonist. At Fleur de Lis, he cooked simple French food, not perfectly, but with heart.

Many failed to see Fleur de Lis’ charm, and the restaurant closed in early 2008 after a short-lived metamorphosis into a Creole lunch spot. In the intervening years, Robinson has cooked at other people’s establishments around town, including Peasant Bistro and the Tasting Room wine bar in Sandy Springs. I hadn’t eaten Robinson’s cooking since a masterful bowl of étouffée and a disturbing po’boy (fry oil not hot enough; flabby, upsetting oysters) in those last, Louisiana-themed days of Fleur de Lis. Until, that is, he turned up at Amuse in the old Allegro location.

It is a weird location. Tucked into the back of Midtown on a mainly residential street, the slightly spherical, hugely windowed space didn’t survive as Allegro, despite an inventive and nuanced Italian menu from chef Jose Rego. Why Allegro failed is anyone’s guess. If I were to put money on it, I’d say the refreshingly creative food couldn’t outshine the place’s old-fashioned vibe, especially when the only other restaurant within spitting distance (One Midtown Kitchen, across the street) is practically the poster child for whiz-bang modernity.

Amuse’s owners – Andy Alibaksh of Carpe Diem and Carroll Street Café, and Arnaud Michel of Anis, where Robinson was chef before Fleur de Lis – have made an effort to imbue the space with some playful design elements. A vintage French absurdist theme runs throughout: Belts and bicycles and antique drafting tools are among the knickknacks adorning the restaurant. The main dining room’s large specials blackboard sometimes sports a whimsical chalk drawing of the Eiffel Tower.

Despite its Frenchie overtones, Amuse bills itself as an “international bistro,” and the menu is made up of upscale, vaguely Euro-centric dishes with no one unifying theme. Bistro classics such as steak frites sit alongside lobster spaghettini and risotto of the day.

A wild streak runs through the menu, a kind of inventiveness that almost works but often left me baffled. An appetizer of roasted cauliflower with pecorino and candied pistachios looks very much like hummus: a beige smear across the plate sprinkled with crushed nuts. The refrigerator-cold spread wasn’t presented with anything to spread it on, so I assumed it was meant to be eaten with a fork. The pecorino marries with the cauliflower for a cheesy, deeply savory mouthful. But its temperature and presentation seemed off, like it would form a great base for a more complete dish rather than act as a standalone appetizer.

Octopus with mint, chili and pickled cucumber gave the impression of two dishes mashed together – the first the dish that the menu described and the second a kind of octopus Provençal. Along with the mint and chili, which leant a vaguely Moroccan vibe, the dish included olives, potatoes and a few tomatoes. I could taste the stirrings of something simpler underneath all the confusion, something with one clear direction that would have satisfied more.

The salad of napa cabbage, avocado and yuzu under the pork belly appetizer created a refreshing foil to the rich, fatty meat, and reminded me of how lovely Robinson’s simple salads could be.

But much of Amuse’s menu is slightly overwrought Continental cuisine that had me yearning for the days when all Robinson’s cooking was simple and classic. One evening’s special put a pink in the center, crisp on the outside duck breast over mashed potatoes, with a blackberry reduction – the flavors worked well together but seemed out of date and out of season. Salmon with fava bean puree, mushrooms and a sea of “tangerine” butter piled rich flavor upon rich flavor. I couldn’t detect any tangerine, and what I could taste was missing the simplicity and brightness needed to balance the flavors.

Lemon ricotta gnocchi lacked much lemon flavor, was slightly gluey, and basically resembled a decent Little Italy version of a dish that’s seen better days. Too much of this menu is like going through your grandmother’s closet, pulling out something old-school and promising, and realizing it truly is too fuddy-duddy to count as wearable.

If these dishes are mildly appealing when cooked properly, they lose a lot of that allure when cooked poorly, as I encountered one night when Robinson wasn’t in the kitchen. On that evening, the orange-glazed piglet was dry, and sat atop raw Brussels sprouts. A fatty tail piece of salmon was barely seared on the outside and raw in the center. Call ahead and make sure it’s not the chef’s night off.

Here’s my outlandish wish: I wish this partnership would focus on what everyone involved is actually good at – the relaxed, personality-laden neighborhood café. Install Robinson as chef at Carroll Street Café, or another casual, street-front establishment. Atlanta doesn’t need another middling upscale restaurant; we need better food in our neighborhood bistros. I know this chef excels at exactly that. Laissez faire.