Raymonds

Raymonds

St. John's, NL

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9 out of 10

Contemporary Newfoundland Cuisine

In an old cable building with floor-to-ceiling windows looking out partly onto the St. John's harbour and partly onto a deserted part of Water Street, chandeliers hang from the ceiling, Ron Bolts paintings of raging seas decorate the walls, and well-dressed young servers choreograph dinner. This is St. John's newest dining destination.

There are not many tasting menus in St. John's restaurants, mostly because the clientele isn't there, but this one is worthwhile and it's going to last, even as the courses change. The night I went:

Grouse consommé was simple, sweet, and rich with cold-curing, flavourful fat. The diced tomato garnish complemented the sweetness perfectly, and wasn't the usual acidic but otherwise flavourless imported version of what Newfoundlanders call tomatoes in the middle of winter. A very sweet (though "brut") Henry of Pelham Niagara sparkling wine was paired with it.

Then a beet salad with finely chopped candied nuts and deep-fried slivers of jerusalem artichoke - savoury and sweet with an nicely biting vinaigrette and cooling crème fraiche. The artichokes were earthier, more flavourful versions of potatoes whose tendrils whirled artistically around the top of the beets. The white wine accompanying made the beets taste even sweeter without getting in the way of the vinegar on the greens.

A tomato, fennel seafood soup saw perfectly cooked cod in a warm (but not hot, so as to not continue to cook the fish?) broth that was full of fresh vegetables. The local (south-west NL), hook-and-line-caught (I think that's what was said. A more sustainable method than bottom longlined or trawled anyway) cod was well-seasoned and enriched the broth, and the sustainable BC rock shrimp on top, though fairly flavourless, twisted around itself like a soup sculpture. The fennel seeds in the dish gave your mouth a surprise from time to time, but they weren't as explosively fresh as I would have hoped. The white Chardonnay accompanying seemed too sweet for the mild cod.

The Chardonnay with the scallop, however, was perfect. My favourite pairing of the night. Sure, it's classic, but it works. It made the scallop seem more buttery (though there was no butter to be found in the dish, a real joy for a lactose-intolerant person). The lone, enormous, Newfoundland scallop was perfectly seared and tender, topped with some more pieces of diced tomato, and sat atop a mound of shaved brussel sprouts cooked with bacon, the salt sinking into the slaw, and the sweet parsnip purée the perfect amount to enjoy without becoming sickening candy-like.

So far, everything had been on the sweet side, and fresh seafood had shone naturally. The next dish was more cod, this time a small, simply-grilled portion on top of a cassoulet of white navy beans with zucchini and bacon for a slightly salty, deep flavour. Said Jeremy, the Sommelier, not the Chef, some fishermen can tell where a fish was processed just by the look of it, as some plants do a much better job of it than others. This was, apparently, a very well-filleted cod, and the thick piece on each plate fell apart slice by slice. The beans were cooked, but the dish just didn't have any single flavour to get excited about. Cod is a pretty bland fish, and even when cooked perfectly, in this case, it was just cod. I found the accompanying Chablis too sweet, as nothing in the dish could stand up to it.

Then a red: A Pangaea Syrah from Chile to go with the best filet mignon I've ever had. Even medium-rare filet mignon I usually find chewy and not worth the effort, but this meat was very, very tender and succulent. It was made with a Red Heart Shiraz reduction of the pan juices ("like the Hey! Rosetta album") and the very dry sauce/paste/reduction of rich meaty flavour was a generous, intoxicating serving of rich depth for the meat. The sweetness of the meat came out as you chewed, so instead of feeling like you've got to swallow to get the dry lump out of your mouth, you can savour. I had a little Chablis left, which actually brought out the butteriness of the fat of the meat, though it couldn't stand up for itself the way the Syrah could. The dish came with fingerling potatoes (or a purée for those who can handle dairy) and an over-salted asparagus, my only negative comment of the dish.

Finally, dessert. An almond-citrus sponge cake (naturally dairy and gluten-free) with mandarin orange confit, a sprinkling of crushed pistachios, and a scoop of the most amazing pineapple sorbet (I would swear it was ice cream, but no, it's also dairy-free). The sorbet melted quickly next to the cake, but that just helped eliminate whatever iciness would have been left after the sorbet-making process. So melt away. The ice cream wasn't acidic at all as under-ripe pineapple can be, but at the same time the sugar didn't seem too present in it until you tried it with the Hungarian muscat that tasted slightly bitter by comparison. The muscat seemed to be more bitter orange zest-based than sweet orange juice. Or maybe it just seemed bitter because the sugar syrup from the orange confit soaked into the bottom of the small, circular sponge cake like an accidental (on purpose) sauce?

Sublime. Just sublime. The highest quality, mostly local (forget about the pineapple, but it's worth it) ingredients you'll find placed on pedestals in a St. John's restaurant. Vegetables from Lesters Farm, Scallops from Placentia Bay, and grouse, for goodness sake...I wouldn't be surprised if the Chef had hunted it himself. I could have eaten a bowl of grouse soup and been satisfied. The scallop, the beef, and the pineapple sorbet were icing on the very sweet cake.