Alinea

Grant Achatz is a changed man. Or at least he says he is. When asked in a recent issue of Food & Wine to rate his interest in science on a scale of one to ten, he replied “four.” This from a guy who, a year ago, opened a restaurant with a Star Wars–style door that opens with the wave of a hand. A chef who made a PB&J for his amuse-bouche, using carbonation, a blowtorch and chemicals we can’t pronounce, all without separating the lone grape from its stem.

It’s a year later, his pastry chef Alex Stupak has left for Manhattan’s WD~50, and everyone from GQ’s Alan Richman to Achatz himself is claiming that things have changed. In a recent article, Richman called the cuisine “a little too safe.” He also said it was delicious.

Most chefs strive for delicious, so what’s the problem? Well, since Achatz came out of the gates as the golden child of “molecular gastronomy,” diners have come to expect a “wow” at every turn. If Dennis Rodman showed up at a party in a tailored suit, sans piercings and Technicolor hair, people wouldn’t comment on how dapper he looked, they’d wonder what happened.

“It’s a maturity thing,” Achatz says over the phone the day after our dinner. “I’ve realized that I’m not interested in being that guy. I want Alinea to be a great restaurant rather than a science experiment.”

He’s achieved that. From the moment we activated the sliding door until we slipped into the taxi the host flagged down, the experience was top-notch. The room is comfortable, the wine pairings are perfect and the service is polished. Practiced pacing means that diners can get out of there in three hours if they wish, as opposed to four or five, as was the case a year ago. But at an average of $150 a head not including wine, every wave of the multicourse dinner (choose either 13 or 24) should be as perfect and as interesting as the next. As with a year ago, it nearly is.

If Achatz did tone down the hocus-pocus, you’d be hard-pressed to find where—his culinary creativity is still off the charts. Heirloom-tomato water is encased in a fresh mozzarella bubble. Cubes of cocoa-coated watermelon mimic the seared cubes of Kobe beef with which they’re plated, while pickled watermelon rind, fennel puree and cocoa foam complete the package. Squares of both hot and cold potato combine with Parmesan and black truffle for an unbelievable bite-size baked potato. Porcini puree, almond ice cream, powdered ham and cherry puree make for a savory parfait with unparalleled complexity (pictured, front). A paprika-carrot capsule explodes in your mouth to unveil peach puree. All hits. Unfortunately, two of the four misses are new desserts Achatz created since Stupak left. Red pepper taffy–drizzled raspberries are too sticky to enjoy, and the accompanying pistachio puree is gritty. And while we’re told the chocolate floating among bergamot tea and figs is heated to “a near-liquid 97 degrees,” the effect is lost. It’s a nonmelty hunk of good chocolate. The other two dishes that didn’t quite work were a greasy, fried, vanilla bean-speared langoustine and lamb that inevitably becomes overcooked on the hot stone it’s served on. Sure, it’s interactive, but it not only jeopardizes the end product, it’s an attention grabber that should be reserved for sizzling-fajita spots.

But I’d just as soon trade gimmicks like the floating bacon (the longest-running dish) for dishes like Achatz’s squab, an unforgettable marriage of long-peppercorn custard, sorrel, strawberries and tender bird. It may not have shock value, but it puts Achatz in a league with Charlie Trotter rather than the laser-wielding set. Not a bad place to be, especially to avoid being a flash in the pan.