The following is a sneak peek from our October issue, heading to newsstands soon.
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Longoven chef and co-owner Patrick Phelan plates roast pigeon with maitakes and kale (Photo by Justin Chesney)
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Longoven's dining room with an open kitchen (Photo by Justin Chesney)
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Corn custard with shiitake, crab and shredded egg yolk (Photo by Justin Chesney)
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Patrick Phelan (left) and Sous Chef Zack Weiss discuss plating. (Photo by Justin Chesney)
The absence of buzz, of look-at-us flash, is striking, but so is the absence of strain at Longoven, which, granted, has literally had almost four years of practice, as a semi-regular pop-up, to reach this moment.
Perfectionism might not have been the sole cause of the epically long delay (the principals, chef-owners Andrew Manning and Patrick Phelan, and pastry chef-owner Megan Fitzroy Phelan, are more likely to cite the exhausting and dispiriting search that ended, finally, with their arrival at this humble corner of booming Scott’s Addition), but it’s not as if it played no part, either. The highly accomplished trio wanted to wait until it was ready, really and truly ready.
Caution of that kind — or prudence, if we’re being charitable — can sometimes breed a stiff joylessness, but that’s not at all what I taste coming out of the kitchen this night.
On the contrary, every dish is light and fresh and playful, with none of that overworked quality you sometimes come across when a chef is holding his breath. None raises its voice. None risks for the sake of risking. This is the humility and simplicity that attends genuine mastery.
Some menus overpromise and underdeliver; this one underpromises and overdelivers. There are just 11 dishes on the a la carte menu, and the descriptions, like a low-affect lover, make little attempt to seduce you.
You might not, therefore, expect much of a simple-sounding corn custard that turns out to be anything but. The custard plays, to me, as a take on the Japanese dish chawanmushi, though studded, here, with sweet crab that amplifies the sweetness of the custard, mushrooms that aim to mimic the texture of the crab and custard, and a shiitake gelee that brings another layer of soft texture.
This is what American dining looks like right now at the highest levels, a cuisine that pulls in liberally, exuberantly, from all corners of the globe, most notably Asia and Latin America, but that also looks for ways to contextualize these inspirations with local, seasonal ingredients.
Another plate is an homage to Peru: a snake-like arrangement alternating tender coins of octopus with soft slices of potato. There’s a spiced mayo that recalls aji amarillo, an herbaceous pesto that’s reminiscent of huacatay, and, for subtle richness, and also to remind you of the imagination and talent in the kitchen, tiny pearls of almost liquefied egg white.
Restaurants at this level must be preoccupied to the point of obsession with the smallest of details. That can be neurotic-making for a staff. It means chilled plates for dishes that can’t survive a drop in temperature, but it means you can settle in for some pampering. Servers who know when to show up and when to be scarce. Handmade ceramics that enhance the drama and artistry of the cooking. Petits fours with the check to send you off on a cloud.
Above all, it means that every dish that comes to the table is the result of careful, fanatical thought and, in some cases, a lengthy gestation that rivals that of childbirth. It’s to Manning’s great credit, however, that we don’t see their homework.
Or that, for all that Longoven has thrust itself into conversation with the finest restaurants around the country, little that shows up on the table feels secondhand or cliché. Manning has a style all his own, one forged during his decade-plus stint cooking in a villa in the Abruzzo region of Italy, away from the influence of his fellow chefs. There’s an earnest and earthy lyricism to many of his best plates (and that the soundtrack that first night echoed, moving as it did from Golden Smog to Cash to Dylan to Porches). A plate of roast pigeon tasted like nothing anyone else in the city is doing, and put me in mind of the evocative and rustic cooking of the Italian countryside. The pigeon, which had been hung and dried to develop flavor, was intense but only lightly gamey, and the skin had been brought to a salty golden crisp. Manning gave the plate not just maitakes, but also a fermented mushroom miso, and not just kale, but a kale puree — the equivalent of turning up the bass and drums on a track that’s already pulsing.
Manning’s a mushroom lover; seven dishes on the a la carte menu include mushrooms, and in some cases two preparations of them. This could be annoyingly insistent, but it’s not; it speaks to the strong and idiosyncratic personality at the stove, and can be read as a rebuke to the kind of fine dining that drifts into formal correctness and bland elegance.
The layered cooking calls for wine, and the list, here, is stunning in its reach and depth, a showcase of small growers from Europe that you simply aren’t going to find anywhere else in Richmond. But the list is just as stunning in its accessibility; you can drink wonderfully well for $24 a bottle, and there are plenty of knockouts for $50 or $60.
Longoven is essentially two restaurants in one, with an a la carte menu and a tasting menu to choose from; it’s obvious that the chef-owners want to build their rep on the latter identity. It’s a gamble in the extreme in this hyper-casual era to build a restaurant, even in part, on an expensive menu that doesn’t give diners some control. But it’s that very control that talented chefs want and seek, the ability to deliver as precise and artistic a meal as possible every time out.
My return visit to Longoven was for the tasting menu; a night of surrender and abandon. It was a meal of beautiful balance and pace, full of discoveries (from the tangy tone poem of radish-topped scallop in a kind of yuzu vinaigrette to a single, roasted, glazed maitake presented as a de facto meat course). It would be hard to imagine a more civilized, more restorative night of dining out in the city.
Still, the excitement, for my taste — and call me a control freak — lies in the a la carte menu, the mixing and matching of flavors, the chance to sink into a single dish and spend time with it.
Desserts are the province of Megan Fitzroy Phelan, and are unlike any other in Richmond, with an Asian approach to sweets (less sugar, an emphasis on textures) that makes for a light touch at the end. You can indulge without guilt or shame.
As thrilling as dining at Longoven can be, perhaps the most exciting thing about the place is its daring and reach. Richmond’s scene is growing exponentially, with new ideas and flavors arriving seemingly every week. But daring and reach — we can never have enough of those.
4.5 out of 5 stars
2939 W Clay St.
804-308-3497
Hours: Tuesday through Thursday 5 to 10 p.m.; Friday and Saturday 5 to 11 p.m.
A la carte: $12 to $30
Tasting menu without wine pairing: $110
