Pere Pinard--Manhattan

212.777.4917

There’s nothing worse than a relatively good restaurant going to shit. Experiencing this deplorable truth inevitable happens the last night you attend the restaurant, when you succumb to the fact that despite your fond memories and security in knowing a solid place in a foreign neighborhood, the meal that sits in front of you is shit. Overpriced, overcooked, underserved, shit.

The establishment in question that conjured this recent sentiment is none other than the Lower East Side French Embassy: Pere Pinard. I had the misfortune of dining with some true pros, as a celebratory dinner for the changing of the guard at the East Village staple 26 Seats -- It should be noted that 26 Seats has also allegedly befallen the same fate due to said change in ownership.

The evening was to thank the owners for six years of employment and delectable authentic French cuisine. For many French imports Pere Pernard is familiar fare, and we figured that it was as good as any place in the neighborhood. I’d been there quite a few times and remember the steak frites being the perfect pre Ludlow Street bender food. I’d taken friends there from overseas. I’d gotten really drunk in the bar. It was always a reliable place to eat decent, albeit not outstanding, French food and check out some authentic Franco-trim. But as I was about to learn, those days are over.

Let’s start with the fact that they ran out of house wine. Not after serving the fourth or fifth bottle to a large party over the course of a diner, but at 7:00 at night after serving just a glass. The bartender ran out of house wine. Now, I know I’m kind of a stickler but if a guy comes in to your restaurant the first of a large party, assume he’s going to be drinking for a while. Don’t offer him something you only have two servings of. Just don’t. That rookie mistake should have warned me of the potential disaster, but I chalked it up cost cutting mischief and ordered a different bottle. By that time, everyone had arrived and we sat for dinner.

Now the food, Christ the food. No cuisine is affected more by stale, old, or poor quality ingredients than French. And since you’re preparing it in front of the guests, this rule of thumb especially applies to steak tar tar. I had the Salmon, which was disgusting in its own, overcooked way, and the lettuce on my first course, a mixed green salad, was wilted. Luckily for them, the rest of our guests were either too drunk or too young to notice. Fifi, the staple manager was nowhere to be found, and the service, though marginal, strutted around as though they weren’t serving last week’s leftovers.

Though not as bad as losing the quality of food and drink, there is almost nothing worse than an established restaurant relying upon its Lower East Side attitude for business. I appreciate restaurant mavericks pioneering into pre-gentrified and often dangerous neighborhoods. Though I don’t agree, I begrudgingly accept that if you work at a cool establishment you have the right to take the whole service/hospitality thing a little lighter. You have the right to charge a little more for the food, considering a price of admission of sorts. But to do this, you have to have the food to back it up. Pere Pernard, if it keeps this trend going, is going to become a well known bar that serves suspect bar food.