Friday, February 27, 2004

By Mackenzie Carpenter, Pittsburgh Post-Gazette

When Isabela on Grandview opened on Mount Washington in 2000, it quickly claimed a spot as one of the top three or four restaurants in Pittsburgh, mostly because of chef-owner Chris Frangiadis' richly inventive, stylish-bordering-on-eccentric cuisine, the gorgeous views and the kitchen's attention to detail: from the tiny, tasty starters at the start of the meal, to side dishes like white truffle and leek tart, to the chocolate truffles (gratis), with the check.

At Isabela, sous-chef Chris Franciscus, left, holds lamb sausage and carmelized onion tart and executive chef Kevin Hunninen holds braised lamb shank with a wild mushroom sauce. In the background is a view of the Allegheny River. (Tony Tye, Post-Gazette) Isabela on Grandview 1318 Grandview Ave., Mount Washington 412-431-5882 Hours: Mondays-Thursdays, 5-10 p.m.; Fridays and Saturdays, 5-11 p.m. Basics: "Destination" restaurant on Mount Washington with great views, great food and somewhat casual service. Don't be deterred by that messy front hallway: The dining area is intimate and romantic. There are lots of French sauces with Italian, Southwestern and Asian influences and an expensive, well-chosen wine list. Wheelchair accessible on first floor. No smoking. All major credit cards accepted. Seven course prix-fixe only: $60; Wine flight $45, although wines by the glass (starting at $9) or bottle (starting at $45) are also available. Reservations recommended.

But Frangiadis' restless genius could never stay in one place for long, and by May 2003 he was gone (at last report, he's helping Bikki, in Shadyside, find its niche as a fusion-Indian restaurant). At Isabela, he was replaced briefly by Deborah Goydich -- whose food got raves from a visiting Gourmet Magazine journalist last summer. And now, there's Kevin Hunninen, a former sous-chef who is now running the kitchen and skillfully carrying on Frangiadis' vision: of a restaurant where diners could savor lushly prepared food at a leisurely pace.

Today, Isabela still serves some of the best food in the city, and still is a special occasion restaurant, once you get past the foyer -- which was already forlorn-looking enough under Frangiadis. Push open Isabela's front door (why is there no sign outside? Is this meant as a discreet rebuke to Le Mont's brassy signage up the street?) and you'll feel like you stumbled into someone's not-so-neat Mount Washington studio apartment, with cheesy looking swivel chairs and a sagging stack of CDs on a shelf. The beat-up door to the bathroom is wide open. On the first visit, a hostess hastily kicked it closed, while on the second visit, no one was there, so I closed the offending door myself, while waiting for what seemed like an eternity for someone to appear and take me to my table, all the while gazing at the framed review by Gourmet Magazine proclaiming Isabela one of America's best places to dine.

That experience is one reason why, today, Isabela can't really be called a four star restaurant (Catherine Olteanu, the restaurant's general manager, sighed when I told her about my complaints and didn't disagree, but she says a full renovation is planned for 2004). The service is friendly -- white tablecloth without the attitude -- but hardly impeccable: After finding no host on that second visit, I ended up searching for my dinner partner myself by wandering up the stairs to the restaurant's second floor. On another evening, feeling festive, my companion asked if there was a cocktail maison, a specialty of the house, that the server could suggest. The cheerful young server shrugged, looked puzzled, and said "I don't know."

There are other little disappointments, too: The white truffle and leek tart side dish that came with my Jamison lamb 2 1/2 years ago is now an unexceptional rice pilaf and a few sauteed vegetables. There's a small crust of chocolate on the little bowl that housed the raspberry sorbet. And, contrary to what the message on the answering machine says, Isabela's menu doesn't change all that much every day. We had the same menu choices on one Wednesday night that we had a week later, on a Thursday night, except for the desserts.

But enough complaining. A very, very good meal can still be had at Isabela, starting at the beginning with the vivid amuse-bouche -- literally, "amuse the mouth" -- that layers four or five different flavors: the watery crisp green of cucumber, sweet marinated lump crab (on another night, it was marinated scallop) and the gasp-for-breath heat of wasabi-spiked mascarpone cheese, topped with three tiny orange caviar eggs.

I miss Frangiadis' knock-your-socks off appetizers like jumbo lump crab souffle and the beet cappellini in creme fraiche with lobster and three kinds of caviar, but a risotto seafood cake in a tart lemon beurre blanc was sensational, a golden crust breaking open to reveal a creamy, gooey center. Lamb sausage and caramelized onion on a crisp roll of puff pastry in an intense tomato coulis was a miracle: No gummy, soggy layers here, just aromatic meat and spice in crisp crust.

Our hunger unabated, we moved on to the fish course. Only one misstep: A pretty little piece of salmon in a pale pink Dijon cream sauce was nearly ruined by oversalting. Otherwise, the seafood baked in parchment, in a subtle, roasted fennel cream sauce, was meltingly luxurious, as were the crab-stuffed crepes, which, surprisingly, paired beautifully with the not-overly assertive Maytag blue cheese and a light wash of red pepper pesto.

By now, though, we were flagging. Were the helpings larger than I'd remembered under Frangiadis? Were they richer with cream and butter, especially in the fish courses? Or was -- ahem -- gluttony the problem? The beauty of Isabela was always about portion sizes that never overwhelmed the diner during the course of a long evening, but by the time the "intermezzo" -- a sweet-bitter raspberry-tea granita to cleanse the palate -- arrived, we could hardly look at it.

But once the meat course was served, all doubts fell away. This is the crescendo, at Isabela, at least for carnivores, when the best meat and game is rolled out, along with the classical brown sauces that might take a home cook three days to make. A lamb shank (from world-celebrated Jamison Farms in nearby Westmoreland County) was so tender it could have been eaten with a spoon, partnered by a chocolate-colored wild mushroom demi-glace. Roast pork tenderloin was caramelized outside, tender inside in a creme fraiche with another fiery kick of wasabi, a favorite ingredient here.

Overall, Hunninen seems more conservative than Frangiadis, who could sometimes be over the top (Cornish hens in bitter chocolate and raspberry sauce; tuna sushi in soy and saffron beurre blanc). But Hunninen matches his predecessor in daring and finesse with the beef tenderloin in a jus of vanilla tarragon and vermouth. I've had vanilla with shellfish, with wonderful results: Here, it actually works well with the velvety tenderloin, a subtle, soft background note complementing the herbal flavors of the sauce.

Energized by that shot of pure protein, we quickly downed the light salad of baby greens with basil shallot vinaigrette and aimed our sights at the desserts, which still astound: "Cheesecake as It Should Be," a mainstay on the menu, is light, foamy and fragrant with vanilla; a fudgy chocolate cake in clouds of Italian meringue is a child's fantasy of a birthday cake. The only disappointment: a blueberry creme brulee in a puff pastry crust that was somewhat tough. Of course I ate every bite.

In the end, Isabela still delivers, although at a higher price than in the past (and given the dire economic climate for restaurants, this is no surprise). The seven-course prix-fixe menu has gone up from $55 to $60. There are no more chocolate truffles with the check, either. And don't expect a "Pittsburgh discount" here: Dinner at Isabela isn't that much cheaper than a comparable night out in New York (the three-course prix-fixe at Mix, Alain Ducasse's latest venture, is $72). There are few inexpensive wines to be had (on one online Web site a customer complained about a markup of Ravenswood Zinfandel from $10 retail to $45). Wines by the glass -- 30 in all -- start at $9, and a wine "flight" -- a specially chosen wine with each course -- is $45, although Olteanu says she'll match the quality of the vintages with any restaurant, anywhere.

But who's quibbling? Dining at Isabela on Grandview is a treat, a privilege and an education in what is possible in Pittsburgh. Chefs may come and go, but hopefully, as we mature as a restaurant town, we'll develop some bench strength, so that the departure of one culinary artist won't automatically mean the demise of a well-loved, if slightly frayed-around-the-edges restaurant where the food is as diverting as the view. Rather, it will simply be a chance for another young and energetic chef -- which Kevin Hunninen surely is -- to develop his skills and bring us along with him for a glorious ride.

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