With mixture of exotic and classic, Banq holds interest
The main draw at Banq may be the ribs. They're made of blond wood, so don't try to eat them. Cut into organic curves, they are affixed to the walls and ceilings to form an undulating interior landscape. The effect is like dining inside a cave designed by Ikea.
It's very cool - distractingly so. Banq's interior seems as much of an attraction as its Asian-influenced French food. All of those light wood ribs are complemented by plenty of dark, zebra-striped wood - the tables; the tall, enclosed banquettes. Indeed, it's dark inside Banq, hold-your-candle-to-the-menu-so-you-can-read dark. And, at peak times, it's very loud.
This all made for an instant scene: As soon as Banq opened in February, in the condo-ized Penny Savings Bank in the South End, swarms arrived. It's also an overstimulating scene. The design, the noise, the buzz - before you know it, your grilled cod with papadum and onion crust, Pommery banana flower relish, lotus root Provencal, and green tea miso beurre blanc is gone, and you can't remember what, exactly, it tasted like.
That says something about the food, not just your attention span. The descriptions make the mouth water, full of intriguing ingredients and combinations: Tea-smoked quail and date cigar with a pea tendril Caesar, almond tamarind shot. Soy ginger lamb spring roll with Roquefort glaze. Fire-charred sirloin with smoked cha choy, cilantro and taro pave, caramelized lotus seed, creamy chanterelle sauce. Is this not food poetry? Don't you want to read the menu aloud with plummy Dylan Thomas inflection?
But as vivid as these dishes sound, in practice they are often muted. France does the talking while India, Japan, and Thailand whisper in its ear. Much of Banq's food is delicious. If you're expecting to be smacked around by chili lime green beans and smoked Darjeeling tea jus, however, it's disappointing when your taste buds mainly encounter the polite Cornish hen breasts they accompany. Or to discover that quick-tossed cumin and scallion scented yams and kaffir lime jus are nearly subsumed by the intense richness of Cotes-du-Rhone braised shortribs.
Banq's food can be as rich as the language on its menu. This is divided into three sections: Asian Amusé (described as "small bites to intrigue you"), appetizers ("yin and yang for the soul"), and entrees ("cosmopolitan palate"). Odd accent aside, the Amusé section lives up to its billing. These dishes are both intriguing and small, just a taste to wake the palate.
The soy ginger lamb spring rolls are crisp parcels that give way in shards to the gaminess of lamb, then the gaminess of Roquefort, the sheep-milk blue a subtle highlight. A nicely cooked, creamy scallop is paired with earthy, Indian-spiced lentils. (Chef Ranveer Brar was previously at the Claridges hotel in New Delhi; Hemant Chowdhry, co-owner with Mark Raab, was a partner at Mantra, another French-with-world-influences restaurant-in-a-bank.) Baby beets, glowing pink, are made sweet with mirin and served with a little round of tangy, smooth chevre. A duck confit samosa is less interesting, the flavor of the duck hidden by a tough fried wrapper. It's also worth mentioning the delicious complimentary bread, mini-naan served with a dip du jour.
If the Vietnamese shrimp appetizer isn't yin and yang for the soul, it is pretty good, and perhaps the most purely Asian dish in the house. Shrimp are dipped in crumbs and seared, then served with spicy glass noodles fragrant with lemongrass, kaffir lime, and galangal. There's rumored to be a spicy coconut salad on the plate, but it's hard to tell it apart from the glass noodles in the dark; the two components meld together.
Mirin-scented water chestnut and shiitake soup with gingered sweetbreads looks nothing like you'd imagine. The soup is a brown puree; water chestnuts are such a textural ingredient, they're nearly neutered when blended smooth. The sweetbreads in the bowl taste good, though aren't as velvety in texture as they could be; they're also not discernibly gingered. It's enjoyable, but if it were served to you simply as mushroom potage, you wouldn't blink.
The quail and date cigar is in the same quandary as the duck samosa. The crisp-fried cigar looks elegant beside the springy pea tendril salad, but the quail might as well be chicken for all you can taste it. The almond tamarind shot (is it for drinking? for dunking?) tastes cloyingly like almond extract. A pork belly trio - among three of the sweetest words in the English language, some might argue - is a letdown. It's a skewer of meat, slightly dry and chewy; a frittata that contains bits of pork; and some rice paper-wrapped triangles filled with more pork. The meat gets lost in the last two preparations, and none of the trio makes the most of the main ingredient. The pork on the skewer lacks the fatty, crispy, rich deliciousness that makes you want to order a dish called "pork belly trio" in the first place.
Entrees move further away from the Asian and hew closer to the French. With one diner's first bite of the aforementioned grilled cod with papadum and onion crust, Pommery banana flower relish, lotus root Provencal, and green tea miso beurre blanc, for example, he simply says, "Yum, butter!" And it is yummy, nicely cooked, with a pleasant crunch on the exterior. But where's the green tea, the miso, the banana flower relish? A "yum" moment is always welcome; a "wow" moment is harder to come by. The lotus root Provencal does stand out, a flower-shaped slice braised in dashi, with mushrooms, peppers, and tomatoes. But the dish, as good as it is, tantalizes with a complexity it doesn't deliver.
Cocktails at Banq do the same - for the most part, they are sweet and sweeter. A good choice is the appealingly tangy tamarind margarita. The rim comes dipped in a mixture of salt, dried lime, and paprika that tastes like a musty basement; I'd order one again, but with a rim of straight salt. Banq's wine list runs the gamut of grapes, regions, and styles in quite affordable fashion. (The entire menu, in fact, is a good value.)
Sometimes sweet and simple works. That's the case with creme brulee: three little egg cups, two filled with the custards of the day, one with sorbet. On a recent night, the custards were an eggy vanilla and a deeply flavored espresso, both silky, not stiff. The sorbet was lemon, made luxurious with plenty of sugar, but not too much.
Banq looks and sounds exotic, but it tastes classic. There's nothing inherently wrong with that. Still, if all those enticing flavors would only speak a little louder, the food would stand a better chance of commanding our attention.
Devra First can be reached at dfirst@globe.com.
