Racines NY

Photograph by Dina Litovsky
Photograph by Dina Litovsky

It takes guts to open a French wine bar across from Lot-Less, in the no man’s land between Tribeca and City Hall. The façade of Racines NY, an outpost of a pair of successful neo-bistros called Racines, in Paris, is obstinately unchic. Inside, the bare-bones exposed-brick décor is less French sophisticate than generic financial-district drinking establishment. But once you sit down to order a glass of wine, from a list that is, as one bartender put it, “off the beaten path,” you realize that these people know what they’re doing. The name means “roots,” and from the savvy sustainable wines to the thoughtful service and the impeccable tweaked versions of French standards, Racines NY pays homage to tradition with a keen eye toward evolution.

Start with the bar snacks, urban and modern, not too racy. Chicken-liver pâté comes in two scoops whipped light as air, topped with sea salt, on a small granite board, next to a pile of olive-oil-grilled toasts. It may be disappointing to find that they don’t have Sancerre (the path was beaten for a reason), but they do have an unusual Menetou-Salon Sauvignon Blanc that turns out to be a smart substitute. Panisse, crunchy fluffed rectangles of fried chickpea dough the size of your grandmother’s Club crackers, arrive in a tiny cast-iron pot. Pork rillettes are so very French, the shredded pork mixed in with mild fat, without even a glance at American barbecue.

When the appetizers arrive—burrata with black-olive-dressed salad, bouncy razor clams over squid-ink spaghetti in a lobster bisque, escargot with roasted-garlic Chantilly mousse and a saffron-potato cromesqui (fritter)—you start to wonder about the chef. Who is this guy? He is Frédéric Duca, who left a Michelin-starred restaurant in Paris to cook here, and, thus far, he seems to have stayed under the radar, even if his cooking is much more Estela than La Grenouille.

Hunks of meat are barely cooked, or cooked just enough, garnished with bright sauce and one or two stalwart vegetables. On a recent night, lamb saddle appeared as a beautiful specimen, cut thick and seared medium rare, like the best steak, dressed with harissa paste and salsa verde and, to keep things interesting, wilted bok choy. Monkfish secured its position as the poor man’s lobster, studded with hazelnuts and sunchokes. But Duca out-Frenched the French with a special: a tourte of exceedingly rich quail breast, foie gras, and duxelles of shitake mushroom, baked in a shiny discus-shaped pastry shell and served in a pool of amber-colored beef jus. A petite frisée salad and two crispy quail legs come with it; get there early, as they make only four or five of these exquisite monstrosities each night. Wasn’t it the French who proved that unchic is the most chic of all? ♦

Open Mondays through Saturdays for dinner. Entrées $19-$35.

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