Black Moon Bar and Lounge
67 Richmond St. W.
416-603-3100
$110 for dinner for two with wine, tax and tip
In astronomy, a black moon can signify any number of things: a month without a new moon, the occurrence of two new moons in a single month, a month without a full moon, the third new moon in a season... In other words, no one seems to really know what it is. I think the same could be said of the latest addition to the financial district food scene.
Owner Abdi Ghotb, the man behind the popular and ever expanding Sandwich Box empire, is clearly aiming for something more upscale than a lunch-time takeout joint with Black Moon Bar and Lounge. The moody room is, as the name suggests, mostly black, illuminated by a pair of spidery office-lamp chandeliers and a pretty globe of lights over the bar. The layout of the space is weird, though. Up front are a lot of low bar tables that would be extremely annoying to eat at, while a couple of lavishly upholstered purple sofa booths (that appear to be made from the hide of McDonaldlands' Grimace) and a few proper tables are jammed unhappily in the back. Over two visits I never saw more than one other table of diners in the place.
So what is Black Moon: a restaurant, a lounge, a bar? Judging by the cocktail list I think we can eliminate the last two. With the exception of an almost soupy Caesar, chunky with grated cucumber and horseradish, the cocktails and martinis seem to be lifted from a trendy TriBeCa bar, circa 1998. Much use is made of ingredients like Malibu, white cranberry juice, blackberries and vodka. The signature martini (açai berry vodka, blueberry liquor, soda and Chambord) is the colour of 2000 Flushes toilet bowl cleaner and tastes like a lollipop.
If we approach Black Moon simply as restaurant, then, how does it fare? While the initial impression – empty room, blaring angular music, photocopied and stapled menu – does not inspire confidence, there is, in fact, some surprisingly accomplished food being served here. Chef Eyal Liebman has a light touch, a good grasp of technique and an eye for interesting ingredients.
A simple salad of arugula and "forbidden" black rice (forbidden because in ancient China only the nobles were allowed to eat it) contains grape-sized melon balls, ginger, lemon and a quenelle of crème fraîche. For some incomprehensible reason it's served in a bowl set into a larger bowl filled with ice, but the salad itself is peppery, sweet and fresh, and if the kitchen doesn't mind the busy work they can present it however they like. Another appetizer brings a circle of soft, slick potatoes carefully seasoned and topped with meaty slices of gravlax. The individual components are fine, but the finished dish develops real interest from a canny dose of ras-el-hanout spices. The barely perceptible presence of truffle oil binds the whole thing together.
To be honest, I ordered the Beef Wellington fully expecting to hate it. I mean, it comes wrapped in a chocolate crêpe, then in puff pastry, for heaven's sake. To my utter astonishment, it was actually good. Really good. The mild, not-at-all sweet crêpe acts as an insulating sponge that allows the well-seasoned, flavourful tenderloin of Wellington County beef to be cooked into submission, while keeping the outer layer of pastry light and crisp. To make matters even more delicious, the accompanying roasted mushrooms are meaty and intense. It's an unexpected knockout and, at $23, a bargain to boot. Similarly, a bowl of pappardelle, while a little slippery and oily, features flavourful chunks of dark, braised lamb shank with more delectable wild mushrooms.
Not all of the chef's outré ideas are so successful, though. An otherwise fine piece of poached salmon suffers from being a little overcooked, and although it was purportedly poached in a wine and lemongrass broth, any bright, citrus flavour is AWOL. The colourful mix of diced raw tomatoes on which the filet rests has no flavour connection to the fish. Overall, it's a clean, fresh-tasting example of spa food – if that's what you're after in a Bay Street-area lunch. The burger, also made with Wellington County beef, is carefully formed and well cooked, but bland.
Reflecting Mr. Liebman's experience as a pastry chef, the desserts are uniformly good. The best is the so-called H & D, a rich pastry cream infused with a delicate balance of honey and Drambuie joined by a lightly thyme-scented Génoise cake on a lemongrass and praline sauce. The trick is to dab a piece of the cake in the sauce and then drench it in the cool cream for a single spectacular bite. It's a killer dessert. The pretentiously named soufflé glacé is basically excellent, light strawberry ice cream/parfait served popping out of a ramekin like a soufflé, while the chocolate spice cake amounts to yet another version of the ubiquitous lava cake, albeit one redolent of cloves, nutmeg and cinnamon.
Black Moon is a puzzle. As a lounge it doesn't work and it seems reluctant or unable to transition into a full-on restaurant, where it has something to offer. It is a restaurant without a reason. Unless it can figure out what it wants to be, I fear that this moon is waning fast.