Restaurant Review - What are you waiting for?

Joel’s a swell choice for a variety of budgets

“What do you mean you’ve never been to Joël?”

I’m amazed how often I’ve recently had to ask that question of food-loving acquaintances. Certainly they’ve heard of celebrated chef Joël Antunes, nominated this year (as is Scott Peacock of Watershed) for the James Beard award for best chef in the Southeast. They know all about his “brasserie” off Northside Parkway — the multimillion-dollar, glitz-fueled temple of gastronomy that opened right before the economy tanked.

Yet these folks, who eat out regularly and occasionally throw down serious bucks for a meal at, say, Aria or Bacchanalia, have never supped at Joël. What gives?

“Too pricey,” some tell me when quizzed. “I hear the service is rude,” say others. “It’s too far out,” a few grumble.

I have swift responses to all these carps: Check out the $29 prix-fixe menu on weekday nights. Yes, service could be brusque and frenzied when it first opened, but it’s impeccable now. And hello? It’s an eight-minute drive up I-75 North from Midtown. This is Atlanta — we drive everywhere! Get in your car and go.

Go early, actually, and start your evening with a drink in the bar. I love to sit in the buzz of the well-heeled, Type A crowd and nurse a gin and tonic. I’m perpetually seduced by the witty lighting — the creamy fixtures, the runway lights embedded in the floor, and the bar itself, lit from within and emanating a revolving glow of hues that bring to mind Lightsabers.

The main dining room, with its soothing tones that are offset by the crazy red wall in front of the kitchen, feels as vibrant and live-out-loud airy as it did when the restaurant opened in October 2001. It’s an energizing, ambitious space that sets lofty expectations for the meal ahead.

Antunes knows how to deliver. Culled from his cooking experiences the world over, he’s honed a heady, personal style that respects his French heritage while leaving wiggle room for the imaginative and unexpected. Take his foie gras terrine, arguably one of the top 10 dishes served by the fine dining set. Never before have I encountered a slab of this terrine with two precise strips of butternut squash embedded in the center of it. Spread on crostini, the squash melts into a rough, sweet puree that accentuates the gamy silkiness of the foie gras. A small, molded scoop of spiced sweet potato adds another tingly layer of intrigue.

Precision is a trademark of Antunes’ kitchen, particularly in appetizers and desserts. A peeky-toe crab cake is molded into an ultra-tight, perfectly round disc. Whiskey millefeuille, a signature sweet, is two lithe vanilla wafers between which are sandwiched voluptuous mounds of whiskey-scented pastry cream. The mounds are spaced in exact, equal distance from one another. I wouldn’t be surprised to find a ruler among the kitchen’s cooking tools.

That is not to say that flavor is ever sacrificed for presentation. The crab cake is served with an apple curry sauce that immediately transports me to Decatur’s South Indian joints, and the crabmeat is gentle and sparkly against the curry. An austere tartare of sea bass (also crafted into a geometrically accurate sphere) and its accompanying cucumber and horseradish sorbet are a droll, invigorating reconfiguration of sushi.

Entrees seem much more homey, though no less accomplished. Roasted veal tenderloin practically melts onto the fork when you cut into it. Then you bite into the sliver of rhubarb next to it and your brain melts, too. Whoa! Who knew rhubarb’s sweet and sour qualities could commingle so magically with meat? It’s unexpected and scrumptious. Beef tenderloin is topped with a cheffy potato-gruyere cake. Surrounded by rutabagas and artichokes in a deeply rich bordelaise sauce, though, the dish has an honest earthiness that reveals the profound effect that Antunes’ grandmother had on his cooking.

Disappointments are infrequent and often mild. The ingredients in a dish of baked loup de mer in an antiboise (a light cream sauce with a memory of fennel) were stellar, but the overall flavor was bland. It just needed a bit of salt, which our server brought without a whiff of ‘tude. Beau soleil oysters, on the other hand, were overwhelmed by the addition of cucumber, pink peppercorns and champagne vinegar. In the case of oysters, less is invariably more.

On one visit, the crepes suzette were mealy and flat. On a return trip, thankfully, somebody in the pastry kitchen had rectified the situation: They had the velvety, buttery decadence that makes this dessert an enduring classic.

I’ve never had a complaint with the chocolate pistachio dariole, a wry variation on the omnipresent, oozing chocolate cake. A delicious if slightly disturbing rush of yellow-green pistachio cream seeps out of the cake, like the innards of the creature from the Black Lagoon. This isn’t really a kid-friendly restaurant, but if you did bring a well-behaved child here, I’m sure they’d love it as much as adults do.

The kitchen isn’t always attuned to the seasons — gazpacho with tomato sorbet, for example, is served here year-round. But what a pleasure when spring blooms on the menu. Young, misshapen peas, obviously shucked by hand, provide subtle crunch to baked turbot. French white asparagus is currently appearing under Joël’s special epicurean dishes. For $19, you get six thick but tender stalks whose flavor is somehow more reminiscent of corn than asparagus. They are enhanced with diced egg, tomato and tiny cucumber rounds that must have been fashioned from the tiniest melon baller conceivable.

Yes, that kind of treat is a splurge. Perhaps you’re feeling more budget-conscious? Let’s get back to that $29 three-course offering. It’s a stunning value. Consider this: smooth salmon persille (a fancy word for another circular creation) in a vestal cucumber sauce, followed by roasted pheasant with apples, polenta and a faintly smoky sage jus. After that, a lovely fresh apricot tart with almond ice cream.

That’s just three of nine options on the $29 menu the night I order from it. And the servers are just as polite and unobtrusive as if you were ordering the $38 beef tenderloin entree. Deal Central, gang. Are you reaching for the phone yet to make reservations?

Of course, if you’re like me and your will power falters when it comes to wine, you might not save quite as many shekels as you’d initially hoped. The wine service at Joël is spectacular, in large part due to Chantelle Grilhot, the assistant sommelier. This young woman, all of 22, brings an egalitarian sensuality to wine selection that is rare and gratifying. During each of my recent meals here, she guided me to wines that bridged challenges — like what to drink when we’ve ordered both loup de mer and pork belly — with intelligence and warmth. I was particularly enamored with a Roussanne from Washington State she recommended that had the haunting taste of summer peaches. Like the other staff members, Grilhot treats you with the same consideration whether you are drinking a bottle of Turley or requesting a Chardonnay in the $35 price range.

See? This isn’t just a place for food snobs with wads of cash. I think Joël got off on a surly foot with the Atlanta public. It opened during a stressful time. Overlong waits on weekends were standard M.O. in the beginning. That’s all changed. If you’ve never been, or haven’t ventured back for a couple of years, it’s time to make the speedy trek to Vinings. You’ll find a restaurant at the height of its powers, helmed by a chef at the top of his game.

bill.addison@creativeloafing.com