La Sirene

Things looked bleak when we visited La Sirene: The empty dining room was draped with fishing nets and low-rent posters of the Côte d’Azur; chef-owner Didier Pawlicki lingered in whites that appeared as though they hadn’t seen a splatter of oil in days. But when Pawlicki fired up the range, La Sirene’s décor flubs quickly became an afterthought. Equal parts chef and showman, Pawlicki trotted from the kitchen to the front of the house to opine on his youth in Marseille, his 13 years in the kitchens of Paris, the state of New York’s French cuisine and, with Napoleonic modesty, his improvements therein. Pawlicki is exuberant, bombastic even, and his food reflects it. Mussels are lavished with curried cream and apples; juicy, ruby-red slices of rare hanger steak are blanketed in crisp garlic and served with a sensuous ménage of sides (a mound of luscious carrot puree, potato gratin in a cheesy veil and a pot of zucchini flan). Skate came garnished with chopped mangoes and capers with accompaniments of peppered slices of warm pineapple, papaya and a fan of buttery chayote studded with black Hawaiian salt. The dishes were sensational and chaotic, rescued from inelegance by sublime technique. By dessert, we were moaning over spoonfuls of chestnut cream and chocolate sauce. Imagine how fabulous the place would be if Pawlicki had hired a decorator.