From New York:
Au Revoir, La Caravelle!
by John Mariani

Dining Room

I find it a sorry task to write obituaries of great French restaurants, as I've already done this year for La Côte and Lutèce. All restaurants have a lifespan—the oldest in the country, although not at its original 1837 site, is Delmonico's, in the Wall Street area. Others still rolling right along include the Old Homestead (1868), Billy's (1870), Keens Steakhouse (1885), Barbetta (1906), and the Grand Central Oyster Bar (1913). NYC gastronomy was once dominated by posh French restaurants of a style set by Le Pavillon in the 1940s.

The Jammets

La Caravelle, which opened 43 years ago on West 55th Street, was very much in the Le Pavillon mold, with red banquettes and roses, tuxedo-clad waiters, and a menu of French classics ranging from duck à l'orange to mousse au chocolat. Since 1988 the restaurant has been owned and run with genteel grace by Rita and André Jammet, who managed not only to balance the classic with the new but to rid La Caravelle of its former image of snobbism in the extreme. Indeed, since they took over, an evening at La Caravelle has been one of the most affable, civilized dining experiences in New York City, and the food, most recently under chef Troy Dupuy, had never been better, from the flawlessly executed quenelles of pike to roast squab breast with a confit of the meat and a complement of zucchini blossoms.

La Caravelle did not close its doors for lack of business per se. Recent disputes with labor and some slow periods over the winter made for a rocky season, but the Jammets had managed to keep a fiercely loyal clientele while attracting new, younger guests for an elegance increasingly difficult to find in the city. But there are four salient moments in a restaurateur's life: birth, marriage, children, and the moment you have to renew your lease. In New York that can be a catastrophic event, especially when the building has a new owner. The math just didn't add up to a profit for all the hours necessary to run a restaurant of La Caravelle's unstinting standards. So the Jammets decided to close.

The Beloved Murals of Parisian Scenes

I will miss the bonhomie of an evening at La Caravelle, and I worry terribly what might happen to the famous Jean Pagès murals of Paris. I will miss the captains, waiters and busboys, and of course the Jammets, who I know will carry on elsewhere in the not-too-distant future. I will certainly miss the food, not because it was old fashioned but because, despite different chefs, it was distinctly La Caravelle's. If I want Dover sole à la meunière or a Grand Marnier soufflé, I know a dozen places I can still find it in New York, although La Caravelle's incomparable quenelles would be more difficult to ferret out. But where there were once 20 restaurants like La Caravelle in New York City, now there are only two left—La Grenouille (recently refurbished) and Le Périgord, exempting Le Cirque 2000 as a more modern style of French and Italian restaurant than these two classics.

On the last night of La Caravelle's 43-year-long party, the Champagne flowed, friends and media and chefs came to say good-bye and to smile at the beauty of it all and to recall the good times we had and high standards we learned here. It was a bittersweet evening but not a sad one, for just to be part of something so wonderful for so long was something to be treasured forever.

John Mariani is well known for his frank and poignant writing in Esquire, Wine Spectator, Diversion and the Harper Collection. He is author of The Encyclopedia of American Food & Drink, The Dictionary of Italian Food and Drink and co-author, with his wife, of the Italian-American Cookbook.

(Updated: 07/09/08 HC)