1 Margaret Corbin Drive

212-740-2939

By John Mariani

    The last time I ate chef Nicole O’Brien’s cooking was on the northern boundary of Manhattan at her restaurant The Pandering Pig, with just 28 seats, a minuscule kitchen and a small menu (now closed). Now, six years later, she is in far more impressive quarters, the Bonnefont fieldstone cottage built in the 1930's for John D. Rockefeller and designed by the Olmsted Brothers.

    The structure is set within the landscaped greenery of Fort Tryon Park and the Cloisters Museum that looks out upon the broad expanse of the Hudson River. The restaurant’s name is taken from the exquisite Bonnefont Cloister and herb garden (right) at magnificent Cloisters up the hill. The structure features a cobblestone exterior, granite archways, and a slate roof held up  by the oak trusses of the interior's 14-foot ceilings––all landmarked, allowing O’Brien only to alter the dining room, which she has done with applaudable restraint. Tables are widely set apart, there is little artwork and there is a lovely shaded garden area where you may dine for the time being. The tables themselves have flowers and a lighted crystal globe. Only the meeting room-like black chairs seem out of place.

        I was luckily there for “Vinyl Wednesday” when the bartender, Logan Burns, plays his own stack of 1960s wax, which was the first restaurant playlist I’ve enjoyed in twenty years.

    O’Brien, who grew up in Marin County, has always called her cooking "FreNoCal," which sounds like a soft drink but is an amalgam of “French Northern California.”  She had once pursued a successful career in the arts and film, then became a private chef for celebrity clientele whose tastes, she says, could be “eccentric.” At Bonnefont she has full freedom to cook as she wishes, and many of her best dishes have made the leap from her former restaurant’s menu. Prices are very reasonable, with main courses ranging from $18 to $38.

    My family and I began with a very fine warm vichyssoise with additional shallots. Roasted Roman dates are stuffed with toasted pine, nuts, garlic, thyme, drizzled with honey. A liberal sampling of cheeses and sausages and salami (right) came on a platter with slices of very good, crusty bread and butter.

    The Bonnefont herbal salad is made with dill-strewn  radishes and toasted sunflower and pumpkin seeds in a Sherry dressing.

    One of the prized dishes from The Pampered Pig is her coq au vin, which O’Brien marinates for hours in red wine, slowly cooked to ideal tenderness and  served over polenta with melted blue cheese. Another is her very winey boeuf à la bourguignon (left) abundant with early autumn vegetables and brought steaming to the table.

    Unexpected was an abundant Asian-style bowl of noodles cooked in  coconut butter with tangled carrots, zucchini, bell pepper, scallions and garlic and laced with peanut butter, soy, butter and coconut.

    The only disappointment was a night’s special of grilled Montauk striped bass whose flesh tasted somewhat muddy. It came atop a potato-leek puree.

    The men also has a “Menu pour Les Enfants” that include a deliciously rich mac-and-cheese my grandchildren had to battle us adults for (right).

    Desserts are wholly apt for the restaurant, like a dreamy chocolate nuage and a moist brownie with the ice cream scooped from the weekend ice cream shop below.

    Bonnefont wine list is neither long nor very interesting, but prices are almost all under $100 per bottle and most labels available as half-bottles.  But the  selection of unusual liquors and small craft beers anchors the charming bar up front.

    Bonnefont is truly a retreat, just as the Cloisters were once for French nuns, only the food and wine are of a more liberal and savory style. To visit the Cloisters, which close at five PM, then dine here amidst the ever growing greenery in view of what Henry James called “America’s great romantic stream” is a unique experience in Manhattan, as far away from its hip-hooray and ballyhoo as it is possible to get.

Open for dinner Wed.-Sun.; lunch Wed.-Fri.; Brunch Sat. & Sun.

        After the interview, which lasted until the late afternoon and was schedule to resume the following morning, Borel called David and shared all the news; David, in turn, shared it with Katie and Catherine.
         Bazarov said that the orders to attack the hotels came directly from the Kremlin, and that the virus would be made available for him to pick up in Ankara. The Russians said they had made all the arrangement in Marseilles and with the Syrians; Bazarov would be in charge of hiring Massot in Paris. In Marseilles contacts were made with the Unione, which for an exorbitant fee—Bazarov did not know the amount—they assigned the job to Marciano, who was deeply in debt to the mob. The Unione told the Russians they did not wish to know any of the details of the operation, only guaranteeing Marciano’s strict adherence to the plan.
         The Syrian government was only too happy to assist the Russians in the operation in an effort to embarrass the Saudis, assigning Salah to the job. He met with Bazarov in Paris, also without knowing more than the operational details of the attack. Massot had, apparently, been used by the Russians for delivery jobs, nothing bigger than dropping off passports and various documents.
         The Sûreté had asked Bazarov what the Putin connection was and why he would want to poison three Paris hotels. Bazarov said he’d never spoken directly to Putin but that the President’s people made it very clear the orders were from the top. The reason, Bazarov speculated, was that Putin wanted a Russian presence in the Paris hotel scene, both for prestige and for the enormous profits they could provide. Embarrassing the Saudis was of only secondary importance, but Putin knew that would further cement relations with both Syria and Iran in the Middle East, whose own officials would receive the V.I.P. treatment in the hotels they could never have hoped to get from Saudi hoteliers.
         Putin was willing to wait for however long it took to completely clean the hotels, watch how long the taint of the virus lingered in the public’s eye, then, knowing that the Saudis had no patience in such matters and sought profitability from a property as soon as possible, make a rock-bottom offer through a shell company to buy the three of them for one price. Putin’s name would be nowhere on the sale documents, but, in fact, he would be taking in profits when the hotels regained their reputation. The wonderful aspect of such a deal was that so much Saudi money had been poured into the hotels when they were being renovated that not a single ruble would have to spent on new furnishings.
         It was a very neat scheme, though wholly dependent on the French and Saudis never finding the culprits in the crime. In fact, Bazarov was informed that Sallah was expected to return to Damascus days after the attack, and Marciano was already back in Marseilles.  The fact that the three perpetrators plus Bazarov had been exposed now meant that there was no hope the Saudis would ever sell the hotels to the Russians. There would always be a buyer for such deluxe properties, even if the Saudis had to wait for one months in the future.
         Catherine held onto the news Borel had asked her to embargo till the end of the week, when the Sûreté and DGSI had readied a public report. Katie and David, who had pretty much come to the end of their vacation time in Paris, called Alan Dobell to tell him all that had occurred and agreed that it was time to return to the States, where Katie could keep track of how the story would develop from there. At some point, after arraignments and charges against the three perpetrators were formalized, Bazarov’s involvement would be announced, then the tricky part of granting him asylum and diplomatic immunity in the face of public outrage  would be hammered out.
         The assertions made by Bazarov about Putin would, of course, be peppered with the phrase “alleged participation,” knowing that it would be denied by the Kremlin and that Putin had little fear of reprisals against him in Russia, though it would not be well received in the Kremlin.

         The three Americans had one last meal together at Jacques’s restaurant, congratulating themselves on their participation in solving the crimes, which was certainly going to put Catherine in a new light at CNN.  Katie would try to turn their story—attempted kidnapping and all—into a McClure’s article in the months to come.
         Katie and David would be leaving the next day, but, with the help of Jacques, managed to obtain a reservation at Le Grand Véfour (above), as they’d promised themselves. Katie had bought a new dress for the occasion—going the safe route with a slender black dress cut out in the back and a thin sash around the waist. David, feeling resplendent in his  new jacket, even bought a new white shirt and a knock-off of a silver-blue Hermès tie with a very small, very discreet horseshoe print.
         Le Grand Véfour was everything they hoped it would be and more—especially the final bill, which came out to more than $600. The restaurant was the most historic in Paris: The space had once served as headquarters for the revolutionaries and meeting place for the organizers of the Reign of Terror. Napoleon ate there with Josephine—the table is still there for all to see—and by the end of the 19^th century it had acquired a mirrored, neo-Pompeian décor of stunning opulence impeccably maintained into the 21^st century.
        Katie and David went with the restaurant’s “classics,” like foie-and-duck gras-stuffed ravioli in a foamy cream sauce; a cauliflower soup with haddock; and squab “Prince Rainier III,” with a bitter chocolate mousse for dessert. It was a long, enchanted evening, and, with Katie so beautifully dressed and speaking French, the service could not have been more cordial and attentive.
        “So, au revoir to Paris for a while,” said Katie, lifting her glass of Champagne.

"And back to the Bronx and the Hudson River," replied David. "Y'know, I've gotten to really love this city, but I miss my little house on the river, which by now must be overgrown with giant hogweed."
     "I'm a little homesick, too," said Katie, "but if I could stay here another two weeks, I would not hate it. Maybe I'll have to come back to finish the story."
     David didn't say what he'd like to have said, that he love coming back to Paris with Her. Instead, he just said you never know.