It's comforting to know that, in our battered economy, a diner can find refuge at Sanctuary.
Take chef Patrick Atanalian's tasting menu, for instance. It tastes like a splurge -- five lovely, well-paced courses -- but the final tab is $35, a deal in the tasting-menu world. The bar mimics Atanalian's creativity and frugality, charging $12 for four short matching wine pours.
It all feels very spontaneous. "He's probably doing scallops, maybe pork, with a salad in there somewhere," followed by a hearty recommendation, is close to how our server described our impending meal one evening. But I'm more than happy to place my appetite in Atanalian's capable hands, judging from that dinner: salmon tartare finished with traces of molasses and chipotle; shards of endive and apples dressed with sharp citrus-date accents; exquisitely caramelized scallops topped with cool Asian pears and smoky bacon, resting in a fragrant, spring-green pool of mint and cucumber; a small sirloin with big, beefy flavor harmoniously paired against a velvety beef tartare, and to finish, a just-perfect nibble of dense dark chocolate and a fine piece of manchego drizzled with lavender honey. I loved the well-paired wines, the genial service, the cozy surroundings and the kitchen's finesse. And my inner cheapskate was all over the minimal assault on my credit card.
Atanalian has headlined at the former New French Cafe, Loring Cafe, the Vintage and Kapoochi. He's never been shy about injecting breathlessness, whimsy and a bit of his inner mad scientist into his work. But he may be mellowing. Or maybe the native Frenchman has embraced a culinary version of Coco Chanel's minimalistic decree that all well-dressed women should remove an accessory before leaving the house. At Sanctuary, Atanalian's seasonally minded cooking feels less frantic and more approachable, without losing the essence of his idiosyncratic style. The unlikely ingredient combinations are still there, but they whisper rather than shout.
This newly Zen Atanalian is all there in my favorite dish, a Fred Flintstone-size lamb shank, braised overnight until the succulent, superbly flavorful meat barely clings to the bone. A sublime ancho chile mole insinuates itself into each bite, and an accompanying cake made from white beans adds just the right accent. It's a perfect dish.
Ditto the tender curried pork medallions, served with a pristine coconut broth and presented with an artist's eye toward composition and color. Another beauty was the sweet, juicy scallops, not the slightest bit overpowered by a brush of balsamic. Each one is crowned by a spoonful of a delicately smokey ratatouille.
For a gorgeous raw beet salad, the gold and red vegetables are sliced into paper-thin ribbons and finished with zesty microgreens. Atanalian elegantly layers sun-dried tomatoes and woody mushrooms between crisp tarot root chips to sculpt a savory Napoleon. A parsnip soup was deeply flavorful, and I loved the dainty little risotto croquettes flecked with bits of duck.
There are a few missteps. Vegetarians' sole main-course choice is a plate of puffy yam beignets. A clunky blue cheese vinaigrette tanked a scallops appetizer. A busy salmon dish was a glimpse into the undisciplined Atanalian of old, and desserts aren't on the same level as the entrees.