Thrilling Tivoli

When I was about 11 years old my mother took me on a tour of Scandinavia. We were traveling around by bus, waking up every day at 6 a.m. to sightsee from morning till night. I was a capricious child who appreciated but also pulled tweeny, bratty moments. We were in Copenhagen and had just seen the Little Mermaid, who as it turned out was truly, really little. I was cranky, tired and refused to go with my mother to the Tivoli Gardens. I remember that there was screaming and tears, and the words still resonate in my head: “I’m doing this for you! You have to come!” I insistently refused and asked to be left alone. So she went off without me. Years later only did I realize that I had truly missed out. It was one of those few moments I regret because I haven’t had the chance to go to Copenhagen again. The Tivoli Gardens still remain a mysterious place of wonder and enchantment to me.

What connection does this have with the Tivoli restaurant in the Mandarin? Well, in the strange parallel universe that exists only between my childhood memories and my stomach, there are quite a few. As a child, I only heard the name Tivoli when people spoke about celebrations. For some reason I have no memory of ever being there but it always struck a chord, reminding me of a magical place where people were happy and smiling, the magical place that I didn’t go to. In my head, Tivoli — because of the Tivoli Gardens — Tivoli was a Scandinavian restaurant. I imagined the menu to be laden with smoked salmon and herring, fresh strawberry shortcake and, well, later in my culinary advancement, a restaurant where they served elderflower and caviar. Many years later, in fact only last week, when I finally set foot in the place, I was overwhelmed by a joyous sense of regret, much like how I feel about the Tivoli Gardens — why have I not been here before? I was also taken aback. The menu was French! And decidedly so!

Okay, okay, the press release says modern European, but the young, new executive sous chef, Remi Vercelli, is über-French and so is his approach to this fine cuisine. He looks like a teenager in his chef’s coat — lithe, a bit shy and, well, I can’t help but be reminded of the Disney film Ratatouille. Yes! His name was Remy.

Perfectly done: Fresh and classic Norwegian salmon tartar with chive cream and toast

Chef Remi has worked up the kitchen ladder, evidently influenced by his toque-wearing grandfather and father. Normally I’m not impressed by a resume of fancy names and restaurants, but this young lad has worked with Paul Bocuse. Yes, yes, the Paul Bocuse. Bocuse d’Or sound familiar? Heck, there’s an award with his name on it; you have to be even just a little impressed by that.

Our meal started with little, perfectly executed miniatures of what the standard dish is supposed to be. He perfectly calculated the portions so there was no wastage or gluttony, only pure pleasure. I adored the attention to detail. The millefeuille of foie gras had paper-thin slices of Granny Smith apples and, served on the side, a perfectly cooked foie bejeweled with pistachios. It was moist and tender, not overdone as most terrine or torchon-style foies tend to be.  I loved how the ginger in the mango chutney provided just the right element of spice and excitement to what was a well-executed continental classic.

We then had a fresh Norwegian salmon tartar with chive cream and toast. Again, not overly creative but perfectly done. The salmon was not over-seasoned nor overpowered with citrus. It tasted clean and honest. It seemed to say, “Take me as I am. I am a salmon tartar and a damn good one at that.” Two soups followed and I must say that I was thoroughly impressed.

A truly good soup is as rare as a mind-blowing, crazy-in-love, knee-buckling, passionate kiss. It can open your senses, take you far away in just a millisecond. Most restaurants have soup on the menu just because. It’s like that customary peck on the cheek or that clumsy first kiss you had somewhere behind the bleachers of your high school stadium. It had to be done. Bland, canned, lackluster, tepid and flavorless. The soup had to be there. For something that is just serve-up-in-a-bowl there are so many elements you can play with. There’s smell — the scent of adventure or comfort beckoning at your nose. As you lean in, much like that exciting kiss, the scent opens up your senses. Then you bring the spoon to your mouth and experience the flavors, the textures that roll against your palate before going down to warm your soul. You close your eyes and take it all in. Before you know it it’s the last drop and you’re hungry for so much more. The saffron mussel soup and oxtail consommé with herbed ravioli were two perfect examples. The delicate aroma of saffron and the sensual suggestion of shellfish were truly enticing. That one floating mussel was tender and sweet. The consommé was clear, dotted with precious, fragrant oils. The ravioli exploded with flavor. If a soup is a kiss, then I confirm that what they say about the French is true!

So fragrant and velvety: My saffron-mussel kiss

The mains were interesting. The sea bass served with paella and lobster foam was good but personally I felt that perhaps such a beautiful fish as Chilean sea bass need not be masked by so much flavor. I felt like it was a beautiful woman but overly adorned with garish makeup and costume jewelry. I can understand, however, how this would appeal to the Filipino audience. The veal cheek Bourguignon was, on the other hand, extremely classic and absolutely wonderful. I love “cheek” of anything: pork, veal, beef, fish. Such a tiny, precious morsel that needs loving attention to bring out its full flavor. The recipe was true-blue French Burgundy with little mushrooms and lardons that separate the burgundy from the Bourguignon. The little chestnut farfalle was an ingenious addition, but personally I like potatoes to sop up that rich sauce.

It’s no surprise that Chef Remi has chosen the classic-continental path, his most vivid food memory being the day he cooked frog’s legs with his father: “The smell of frothing butter and parsley, the difficult task of searing the legs, and most especially the sheer pleasure of sharing this with my father.” It’s in his blood. Interestingly, though, it is his first time in Asia and after immersing himself in our local favorites he finds that even “8,000 km. away from Lyon there are French dishes that will please the Filipino palate.” Well, true enough he was able to please mine! Tivoli is certainly not Scandinavian as I had thought, but it is in every way a marvel of wonder that had eluded me all these years, just like the Tivoli Gardens. Except I have the opportunity to come and indulge more often! A little more saffron soup, please!