French-Continental Cuisine Still Lives at Mirabelle in Carlsbad

Call it deja vu, or call it remembrance of meals past, but there are times when one can enter a new restaurant and know instantly, and in detail, exactly what to expect.

In a way, walking into the new La Costa-area Mirabelle is not that different from entering McDonald’s, because there are clues as evident as the latter’s golden arches that indicate what sort of food and service the guest will find.

Mirabelle bills itself as a “French and Continental” restaurant; in this writer’s private vocabulary, a French and Continental place is called an “onion soup and duck a l’orange restaurant” because these two dishes can be counted upon to figure prominently in the bill of fare.

This restaurant exudes that good old Continental atmosphere that was expected of formal restaurants until the last half-decade or so. The servers wear black tie, which is nice, and they fuss and fret a good bit, which is very nice. The decor correspondingly is a touch stiff and starchy, and attempts to impress with details that simply have gone out of date, at least in Southern California. As a touch of novelty, wall sconces hold lighted candles, but still, the lighting is awkward and dim; an eternal twilight seems to rule the dining room.

In other words, Mirabelle seems something of an anachronism. This is especially true in an area that has passed through the rigors of California and nouvelle cuisines to a classic-based style simply known as contemporary cooking (in this style, the techniques are time-honored, the combinations of ingredients innovative.) Along with the flight from traditional, heavier French and Continental cooking have come colorful, airy decors and a more relaxed type of service.

There is nothing wrong, of course, with serving French and Continental cuisine, because the dishes implied by this moniker earned their reputations by being savory and elegant. There also is a discipline to this style of cooking that arose from its long universality at grand restaurants around the globe; in a world in which the top restaurants offered similar menus, individual establishments had to meet a standard that required that an escalope de veau normande taste the same at New York’s Delmonico’s as it did at Maxim’s in Paris.

But the key, as at any restaurant, is that the food must be well prepared. The cooking at Mirabelle can be described as inconsistent at best.

Two soups were sampled, and while both boasted a fair depth of flavor, each suffered from a concentrated salty taste that indicated either commercial stock base or a kitchen that simply took liberties with the salt box. Neither situation is acceptable. The onion soup, gratineed as expected with a handful of grated Gruyere cheese, came close to the first-rate mark, because it exhibited that nice sweetness that arises from properly (and this means slowly) cooked onions. A cream of broccoli also neared respectability, especially in terms of its delicate texture.

Such standard appetizers as smoked salmon, and snails in garlic butter, were bypassed in favor of the evening’s special, a homemade duck pate flavored with orange. Attractively and generously presented, this proved to be one of Mirabelle’s more successful offerings. Toothsome chunks of duck meat were evident in the midst of the creamy forcemeat that was the basis of the pate, and these lent texture as well as taste. A hint of orange, presumably in the form of grated peel, brought the flavors into a higher dimension and also gave a pleasant sense of freshness and lightness to the dish.

The seafood heading begins with the classic sole meuniere and then ambles along familiarly with shrimp in garlic butter (instead of labeling this dish with the usual, if incorrect, “shrimp scampi” name favored locally, the menu makes the error in French by titling it “ crevettes scampi.” Take this as evidence that we live in a small world.) Creamed scallops are updated slightly by the addition of saffron, and sea bass may rather intriguingly be ordered in the creamy Thermidor fashion generally reserved for lobster.

Thus far, the menu has made little effort to surprise, and it maintains its sedate pose with the meat listings. Here we enter most noticeably into the realm of French and Continental cuisine with a number of those sauced steaks that once allowed meat-eating Yanks to order rare beef while fancying themselves foreign and exotic in their tastes. In this grouping we have steak au poivre, Chateaubriand (a double fillet garnished with a bouquet of vegetables), filet mignon bearnaise, and tournedos (another name for filet mignon) bordelaise.

At the center of this parade of steaks is the steak Diane, a flaming symbol of the tableside cookery once standard in every restaurant that dared call itself Continental. The dish requires little finesse, but it must be cooked quickly and served instantly. In the Mirabelle version, thin slices of fillet were sauteed in a chafing dish with mushrooms and scallions, and then finished with red wine and enough thickening to turn the liquid into a sauce of good consistency. The waiter had inquired how the meat was desired, and was told medium rare; he left the steak unattended in its simmering bath, however, and fished it out only after it had stewed into something akin to pot roast.

The evening’s special of roasted lamb rack seasoned with crunchy pink peppercorns did boast a moist and rosy interior, but the accompanying sauce had little flavor and seemed almost a useless decoration on the plate. A more serious error was committed with what the menu called “ escalope de veau normande, “ which always consists of sauteed veal scallops finished with mushrooms, cream and apple brandy. This dish omitted the apple brandy and instead included garlic (hardly a decent substitute, and certainly not a Norman ingredient). In a way, though, this ingredient switch hardly mattered, since the meat itself had been considerably overcooked. Other entrees include veal served with Marsala, or with green peppercorns, or in the popular “Oscar fashion” with crab, asparagus and sauce bearnaise. For Continental traditionalists, the list concludes with duck in orange sauce.

The dessert course allows the waiters to wheel the cart back to the table for some more tableside witchery. Among the flaming choices are crepes Suzette, cherries Jubilee, bananas Foster and strawberries Romanoff, the last three sauteed in butter, sugar and a bit of liquor, and served over vanilla ice cream. The strawberries were pleasantly done.

MIRABELLE

7720 El Camino Real, Carlsbad (in the Von’s Plaza at the corner of La Costa Avenue)

753-0040

Dinner served seven nights, 6-10 p.m.

Credit cards accepted.

Dinner for two, with a modest bottle of wine, tax and tip, about $40 to $70.