Like any good teacher, Jimmy Phillips knows when to be serious and when to have fun. Miel, his restaurant in Sylvan Park that opened last summer, takes most of its cues from classical French cooking, but it's not a fussy, stilted kind of place.
In certain dishes, tradition is followed closely, but in others, chef Phillips makes eating high-on-the-hog fun, and a meal at his table is at once eye-opening and tongue-tickling. I wish every night out could be like that.
He knows when to step back and let ingredients exert their force, as in a medley of roasted root vegetables accompanying a lentil-stuffed eggplant dish. Nothing more than olive oil and salt clothed the ensemble, so the sweet, nutty undertones of the parsnips, artichokes and white sweet potatoes could play across the tongue unencumbered. You'd never guess the whole plate was a hairsbreadth from being vegan. The same elemental glory was in the slices of roast duck breast, set off by a slight cherry demi-glace. Every bite of the meat was faintly sweet and musky, calling to mind a marsh at dawn.
I also loved an amuse bouche of roasted pumpkin with a balsamic reduction and a couple slivers of chive — at that moment, nothing could have better embodied the antidote to winter's chill. It set the stage for a drop-dead delicious flat-iron steak, tender as can be, accompanied by a subtle and inventive mesa of spinach flan.
Local ingredients star
Throughout the menu, locally produced vegetables, fruits and meats are showcased whenever possible, and there's a palpable dedication to what's in season at the moment. At this time of year, that can be limiting in the hands of a lesser chef, but not here.
Phillips also understands when to step forward and show his touch, as with the seared duck foie gras appetizer. Here he departs from his seasonal devotion and reaches way back into late August with preserved cherry tomatoes, so sweet and bold they make your eyes pop wide open. They clashed against the musk of the duck liver with a loud, delightful gong.
Sometimes, though, there are misfires, as in a beet salad that left its starring element alone when it could have used some acid to brighten the package. A pyramid of licorice-infused gelatin on the same dish was an interesting riff in texture but amounted to a novelty.
I liked the delicate, almost creamy filet of salmon, but there was so much of the braised cider-bacon cabbage on which it sat that toward the end, eating it became a chore. The dish could have used a third element to break up the duality.
More so than most restaurants of its caliber, Miel seems to want you to have affordable and delicious wine with your meal. If you're on a budget, it's easy to be free and adventurous with your selections, by the glass or by the bottle, and that makes a meal here all the more fun. Many bottles fall within the $20-$40 bracket, and the selection is tightly focused on quality French, Italian and Californian producers — no throwaway concessions to the masses here. It's one of the most thoughtful and reasonable lists I've seen in a long time.
Dessert can be marvelous, upholding the fine standard of cooking established elsewhere on the menu. The rotating selection of cheeses is worth diving into; perfectly sized portions of creamy gruyere and manchego are blessed with a bit of wildflower honey for a lovely ending (or beginning). Phillips deconstructs his crème brûlée, and so sweet shards of caramel sugar come arrayed in a jagged diadem around an exemplary dollop of custard. The chocolate mousse, more traditional in presentation, is also well worth trying.
Make sure to linger
The decoration inside the dining room isn't what I'd call relaxing, but once you've been waited on for a little while, a feeling of ease sets in. The dress code is casual, though you'll see a few folks gussied up, and it's refreshing to be treated as though you're dressed to the hilt when you're sitting there in your jeans and a sweater. Check-ups on water, wine and quality were well-timed, and the meals I had at Miel were always well-paced. One night, I had a concert to be at, so my table's server quickened the usual relaxed pace to accommodate.
Because the walls are cinderblock and most surfaces hard, Miel can get loud. Try to situate yourself away from large tables if you're after a quiet evening out. I found myself having to nearly shout when the dining room was moderately full.
The seating is the only thing that stands out about the décor, which is minimalist and somewhat muted. Against the walls are old benches from the Franklin courthouse, whose angled backs and cushions are more comfortable than most wall-side setups. And the dining chairs are remarkably comfortable, again with a nice angle and ample padding. Trying to be cool is all fine and good, but it's best to keep to the basics when it comes to diners' rear ends.
And that's all the better, because I kept wanting to linger at Miel. There are so many possibilities for those moments when you just have to stop and marvel at what you've tasted that you can't help but stretch the experience out. I hope the same goes for the restaurant itself. Every restaurant this good deserves a long, happy life.
