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French
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Franck's is fabulous
By Mary Brown Malouf
Special to The Tribune
Let me tell you right up front that my most recent meal at Franck's was not eaten anonymously. A sharp
waitress recognized me from my first visit and before I knew it, a special appetizer appeared on our table,
compliments of chef Franck Peissel.
But the vegetable tart, a circle of warm shortbread crust topped with grilled zucchini, beet and squash slices
and spinach, and crowned with an onion-scented pastry lattice and a startling scoop of goat cheese ice cream,
was no last-minute gesture to impress. This was a carefully considered dish, conceived with confidence - daring,
even - and presented with panache.
Peissel, imported from New York's Park Bistro to work at the now-closed L'Avenue Bistro in Sugar House,
provides the culinary expertise at the new restaurant. Aaron Ferrer (owner of Tuscany, among others) provides
the food business savvy. Partner and former Jazz player Mark Eaton lends a little celebrity stardust to the mix,
and Tuscany itself shares the lovely location with its new sibling. Together, these elements were bound to
produce a winner.
That is not to say there aren't some minor glitches, many of them created directly by Franck's immediate
popularity. We were not the only guests who had to wait well past their reservation time to get a table. The
hostess was unprofessionally flustered. And when, to while away the wait, we wanted to order a bottle of wine,
she told us she was out of wine lists. "We only have 10!" she said.
After we shared one with some other waiting guests and specified a bottle of Perrier Jouet champagne, the
hostess became even more scattered because she didn't "know anything about wine" and needed to copy the
name from the very good list.
Clearly, the front of the house needs a little more training. Granted, it is harder to provide high-quality service
when you have a hit. But the kitchen and the serving staff seemed to remain unruffled and part of a hostess's
function is to provide an illusion of serenity at the door.
We finally were seated on the twinkle-lit patio, right behind the band's amplifiers of an al fresco wedding at
Tuscany, a completely enchanting spot even with the band's rendition of "Shout!" occasionally overpowering our
conversation. And our server made the rest of the evening blissfully smooth, the only excitement provided by
the extraordinary food and an occasional visit from the property's resident calico cat, Cici.
On the first visit, on a quieter midweek evening, my guests and I sat in the dining room, a lovely space awash in
warm orange with hanging drum lights providing soft ambient art-light. Our table was right in front of the
beautiful room's main attraction, the large plasma screen that airs a constant reality show: the chef and his
assistants preparing your meal. A chef-cam allows everyone in the dining room to watch every step in the
kitchen - flames rising from a sauté pan, mashed potatoes being squeezed out from a giant pastry bladder, a
Pollock-like squiggle spiraling from a spoon and voila. The plate disappears from the kitchen, only to reappear
moments later on your table.
Once the food is in front of you, you kind of lose interest in the screen. After all, at that point, you become the
protagonist in the drama. And this food deserves your full attention. It is action-packed.
A Nigella Lawson-style tilted oval bowl held a cluster of perfect Prince Edward Island (PEI) mussels, plump, pink
and resting in a broth of lemony butter with crisp fresh-fried potatoes on the side, a perfect moules frites
($8.50). The fat little quartered mushrooms in a deconstructed tart ($9.95) were sautéed to swollen richness;
their earthiness was emphasized by truffle essence and offset by port wine reduction and the fresh bite of
micro-greens.
Salads (with a lemony vinaigrette) and a daily soup (the only light split pea I've ever tasted, leavened by
asparagus and a hint of smoke) come with every entree. Desserts range from American butterscotch-chocolate
pudding ($6.95) to French pear tarte tatin ($6.95).
The marvelous thing about this restaurant, the quality that sets it apart from most other Salt Lake Valley
restaurants, is the absence of any theme other than the talent of the chef. Franck's has an idiosyncratic menu,
ranging from French bistro fare such as moules frites to thoroughly American dishes such as fried chicken
($21.95) - three enormous golden pieces on the bone, fried to that fractal surface irregularity that only comes
from correct breading and near-smoking fat. With it, mashed potatoes, a veal reduction standing in for cream
gravy, and a smattering of green, crunchy snow peas, a clever borrowing of texture from those other master
fry-cooks, the Chinese.
The only common denominator on this menu seems to be the chef's personal definition of delicious. There is a
wondrous shellfish-stuffed ravioli ($21.95) - through the tender pasta you could distinctly taste shrimp and
scallop bits enriched with chicken jus enlivened with pancetta. The menu also serves "meatloaf " ($22.95), a
cylinder of mixed meat morsels - pork, veal and chicken - each slow-cooked to shreds, then combined lightly
into a cake cooked to barely crisp edges, the pale meats deepened by a clear, dark berry sauce.
The vegetarian among us received a special plate that included "cauliflower couscous," which normally
accompanies the pan-seared snapper ($22.95). Turns out it wasn't couscous at all, but crumbled cauliflower
florets cooked in butter (or chicken broth for nonvegetarians) and so savory that it made a cauliflower convert
out of someone who had always avoided cruciferous vegetables.
Linguine with duck confit ($22.95) led us to suspect that the chef-cam works both ways. The plate arrived with a
mere duck wing perched on a pile of pasta dressed, along with carrots, broccoli rabe and more snow peas, in
chicken jus. "Is that it?" asked the diner, poking hopefully through the noodles. And the next minute, our
server appeared with a plate of duck confit. "The chef realized had not put enough on the plate," was the
explanation.
I expect to get a lot of flak for stating that Franck's is the finest dining experience I have had in the Salt Lake
Valley. But my opinion is not based on the extra attention I received as a recognized critic.
First, please note the qualifications - I have not eaten everywhere in the Salt LakeValley. And note the personal
pronoun - the finest experience I have had. There may be a better restaurant in the valley according to someone
else, but in my experience, Franck's is the best. Its excellence is no accident. Like a Derby winner, Franck's was
bred to be the best.
By Mary Brown Malouf
Special to The Tribune
Let me tell you right up front that my most recent meal at Franck's was not eaten anonymously. A sharp
waitress recognized me from my first visit and before I knew it, a special appetizer appeared on our table,
compliments of chef Franck Peissel.
But the vegetable tart, a circle of warm shortbread crust topped with grilled zucchini, beet and squash slices
and spinach, and crowned with an onion-scented pastry lattice and a startling scoop of goat cheese ice cream,
was no last-minute gesture to impress. This was a carefully considered dish, conceived with confidence - daring,
even - and presented with panache.
Peissel, imported from New York's Park Bistro to work at the now-closed L'Avenue Bistro in Sugar House,
provides the culinary expertise at the new restaurant. Aaron Ferrer (owner of Tuscany, among others) provides
the food business savvy. Partner and former Jazz player Mark Eaton lends a little celebrity stardust to the mix,
and Tuscany itself shares the lovely location with its new sibling. Together, these elements were bound to
produce a winner.
That is not to say there aren't some minor glitches, many of them created directly by Franck's immediate
popularity. We were not the only guests who had to wait well past their reservation time to get a table. The
hostess was unprofessionally flustered. And when, to while away the wait, we wanted to order a bottle of wine,
she told us she was out of wine lists. "We only have 10!" she said.
After we shared one with some other waiting guests and specified a bottle of Perrier Jouet champagne, the
hostess became even more scattered because she didn't "know anything about wine" and needed to copy the
name from the very good list.
Clearly, the front of the house needs a little more training. Granted, it is harder to provide high-quality service
when you have a hit. But the kitchen and the serving staff seemed to remain unruffled and part of a hostess's
function is to provide an illusion of serenity at the door.
We finally were seated on the twinkle-lit patio, right behind the band's amplifiers of an al fresco wedding at
Tuscany, a completely enchanting spot even with the band's rendition of "Shout!" occasionally overpowering our
conversation. And our server made the rest of the evening blissfully smooth, the only excitement provided by
the extraordinary food and an occasional visit from the property's resident calico cat, Cici.
On the first visit, on a quieter midweek evening, my guests and I sat in the dining room, a lovely space awash in
warm orange with hanging drum lights providing soft ambient art-light. Our table was right in front of the
beautiful room's main attraction, the large plasma screen that airs a constant reality show: the chef and his
assistants preparing your meal. A chef-cam allows everyone in the dining room to watch every step in the
kitchen - flames rising from a sauté pan, mashed potatoes being squeezed out from a giant pastry bladder, a
Pollock-like squiggle spiraling from a spoon and voila. The plate disappears from the kitchen, only to reappear
moments later on your table.
Once the food is in front of you, you kind of lose interest in the screen. After all, at that point, you become the
protagonist in the drama. And this food deserves your full attention. It is action-packed.
A Nigella Lawson-style tilted oval bowl held a cluster of perfect Prince Edward Island (PEI) mussels, plump, pink
and resting in a broth of lemony butter with crisp fresh-fried potatoes on the side, a perfect moules frites
($8.50). The fat little quartered mushrooms in a deconstructed tart ($9.95) were sautéed to swollen richness;
their earthiness was emphasized by truffle essence and offset by port wine reduction and the fresh bite of
micro-greens.
Salads (with a lemony vinaigrette) and a daily soup (the only light split pea I've ever tasted, leavened by
asparagus and a hint of smoke) come with every entree. Desserts range from American butterscotch-chocolate
pudding ($6.95) to French pear tarte tatin ($6.95).
The marvelous thing about this restaurant, the quality that sets it apart from most other Salt Lake Valley
restaurants, is the absence of any theme other than the talent of the chef. Franck's has an idiosyncratic menu,
ranging from French bistro fare such as moules frites to thoroughly American dishes such as fried chicken
($21.95) - three enormous golden pieces on the bone, fried to that fractal surface irregularity that only comes
from correct breading and near-smoking fat. With it, mashed potatoes, a veal reduction standing in for cream
gravy, and a smattering of green, crunchy snow peas, a clever borrowing of texture from those other master
fry-cooks, the Chinese.
The only common denominator on this menu seems to be the chef's personal definition of delicious. There is a
wondrous shellfish-stuffed ravioli ($21.95) - through the tender pasta you could distinctly taste shrimp and
scallop bits enriched with chicken jus enlivened with pancetta. The menu also serves "meatloaf " ($22.95), a
cylinder of mixed meat morsels - pork, veal and chicken - each slow-cooked to shreds, then combined lightly
into a cake cooked to barely crisp edges, the pale meats deepened by a clear, dark berry sauce.
The vegetarian among us received a special plate that included "cauliflower couscous," which normally
accompanies the pan-seared snapper ($22.95). Turns out it wasn't couscous at all, but crumbled cauliflower
florets cooked in butter (or chicken broth for nonvegetarians) and so savory that it made a cauliflower convert
out of someone who had always avoided cruciferous vegetables.
Linguine with duck confit ($22.95) led us to suspect that the chef-cam works both ways. The plate arrived with a
mere duck wing perched on a pile of pasta dressed, along with carrots, broccoli rabe and more snow peas, in
chicken jus. "Is that it?" asked the diner, poking hopefully through the noodles. And the next minute, our
server appeared with a plate of duck confit. "The chef realized had not put enough on the plate," was the
explanation.
I expect to get a lot of flak for stating that Franck's is the finest dining experience I have had in the Salt Lake
Valley. But my opinion is not based on the extra attention I received as a recognized critic.
First, please note the qualifications - I have not eaten everywhere in the Salt LakeValley. And note the personal
pronoun - the finest experience I have had. There may be a better restaurant in the valley according to someone
else, but in my experience, Franck's is the best. Its excellence is no accident. Like a Derby winner, Franck's was
bred to be the best.
