The Velvet Glove

At a whopping $15, that dish might symbolize my experience at the Velvet Glove: beauty that was all surface. An emphasis, seemingly, of style over substance, and astronomical prices -- among the highest in the city -- that led me (the eternal naif, I suppose) to expect food that lived up to them.

But to start with what's best, a basket of wonderfully chewy and tasty house-made rolls, followed by an amuse-bouche -- bite-sized, true, but at least on the house. On one night, a minuscule slice of pork tenderloin over a few strips of fennel; on another, a dab of goldeye mousse perched on a slice of cucumber. Also on the house, a between-courses wee ball of palate-freshening sorbet -- strawberry one night, lemon on another. The conclusion is fine, too, the complimentary chocolate-covered cherries that are one of the Velvet Glove's enduring traditions. Come to think of it, the best things on my visits were free, but between the beginning and the ending, there were problems.

Another night's crab cakes appetizer was OK, but nothing more, certainly not what the even more whopping $18 might lead one to expect -- three small and not very crabby-tasting mounds, with three thimble-sized dabs of sauces -- an aioli, a salsa and something lemony. The menu has undergone changes since my visits but, assuming they haven't vanished with the change, other possibilities on the limited list of starters include an oxymoronish-sounding jumbo shrimp cocktail of baby shrimp remoulade ($17), broiled oysters with B?arnaise sauce and whitefish caviar ($18) and a few soups ($9 to $13).

I have no idea if the entrees I sampled are on the new menu, but I understand that game is always offered, and our main courses one night were both of game. Porcini-dusted elk strip loin didn't taste of porcini but was tasty and tender, as was the grilled bison tenderloin (each $41). With both there was saut?ed squash, but although the cheddar croquettes with the elk were pleasant, the coffee-flavoured sauce with the bison tasted odd, and the truffle mashed potatoes didn't taste in the least like truffles, but did taste nasty, as though the truffle oil had become stale.

Still, the game meats were better than the fish of another dinner. The halibut, for instance -- "tea-poached," according to the menu -- was also too fishy, partnered by a blah of stir-fried noodles with no seasoning other than a final moistening of miso broth ($32). The seafood grill comprised two small lobster tails, a few scallops, a slice of salmon, four mussels and a single clam ($39) -- all acceptable, but topped by a blob of tasteless white sauce that was described by the waiter as B?arnaise, but wasn't. The menu does mention a "rich butter sauce" or a "light fennel foam," but I hadn't been offered a choice, and I assume the foam was what I got.

I didn't find anything that resembled the promised "smoked pickerel potato cake," but I did find an incongruous mash of what might have been sweet potatoes and green beans that were hard (not crunchy) from undercooking.

But the most stunning lapse were the little round balls that I assume were potatoes -- they had no potato flavour, but what they did have was a sour taste, and the hard texture of a half-cooked potato.

Desserts (most $8.95) were much better -- a nice warm apple tarte tatin paired with cinnamon ice cream, and a "tour de chocolat," consisting of a maple chocolate p?t? (good-tasting, but almost fork-proof and crumbly), a tower of dark and white chocolate and a mini-tartlet of chocolate ganache.

For those prepared to spend even more, there are crepe suzettes Grand Marnier, cherries jubilee and bananas foster, each at $15 per serving, or $25 for two.

Whatever else, one has always expected elegance here, but there are some inelegant aspects. The dark wood panelling is handsome and the sweeping brass chandeliers impressive, but the nearby flower arrangement (different on each visit) was made of wax, and possibly the most surprising aspect of one night's dinner was the service, which in so posh and expensive an establishment one assumes would be perfect. On one visit it was formal and correct, but on another it would have been considered a fiasco in a greasy spoon.

It started with "Hi, my name is...," went on to actually asking me what my name was and, unbelievably, went downhill from there. For the rest of the evening, conversation was a three-way affair, with constant interruptions by the server, who offered opinions we hadn't asked for, and a personal history we weren't interested in. We weren't the only ones so favoured -- we could hear the same interchanges going on at neighbouring tables as well.

Not long after my last dinner I happened to see a television interview with the Velvet Glove's chef, during which he cooked a few dishes, and talked eloquently about the new ones that were to appear on the coming new menu -- I remember something about duck breast. It sounded so good I almost thought to myself, "Gee, I'd like to try it," until I remembered my own recent reality.