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Equus

It may be immodest, but not altogether inaccurate, for Scott Cutaneo, chef-owner of Equus in Bernardsville, to brand himself Great Scott. The Staten Island native, 41, is something of a celebrity chef, hosting regular “Great Scott” cooking segments on TV’s Fox & Friends and Good Day New York.

Reviewed by Karen Tina Harrison   
Posted September 23, 2009

Courtesy of equustavern.com.

In Bernardsville, where he has lived since 1994, Cutaneo operated the fondly remembered Le Petit Chateau from 1995 until he closed it last March. A shrine to French cuisine, “the Chateau entertained a very, very upscale clientele,” he says.

Cutaneo didn’t start out with the dream of becoming a restaurateur. At Boston University he majored in business. “I did a junior year abroad at a Brussels management school where we studied Europe’s dining traditions,” he says. “The French restaurants knocked me out. I thought, now this is my way to be really creative.” After graduation, he returned to Europe “as a kitchen slave, falling into bed exhausted seven nights a week, learning the precise French way to choose, cut, and cook every ingredient.” He learned well, working under luminaries Michel Guérard in France and Daniel Boulud in New York.

The Equus investors’ best move was tapping Cutaneo as chef and owner, even though the place has serious service problems. “This was my chance to shift my focus from classic French technique to more relaxed New American food,” he says. “I can spread my wings here—it’s a bigger place, and I sensed that my Chateau diners, after 14 years, would be into my cooking in a less formal style. So I went to Equus, with a more American menu, and closed the Chateau so I wouldn’t be competing with myself. As it turned out, 70 percent of my Equus customers were my clients at the Chateau.” (He says he expects to reopen the Chateau next month as Claremont Tavern.)

Built in 1848 in the heart of Bernardsville’s downtown, Equus’ three-story structure was first a hotel and, most recently, the Old Stone Tavern. The investors who bought it renovated it as Equus (there are hitching posts outside) and retained some of the original rough-hewn stone walls. The airy, two-level dining room has 44 seats downstairs and 30 on a quieter mezzanine. The tables are well-spaced and appointed.

Some of Le Petit Chateau’s most popular dishes, like many of its customers, have made the short trip down Claremont Road to Equus. Two of these dishes struck me as timid and dull—not words that apply to most Cutaneo creations. Crab salad was impeccably fresh but needed more verve than was furnished by a barely spiced cilantro mayo. Similarly, tuna tartare required more contrast than a wan curry-cream dressing, and I’d trade the antiseptic sliced-radish wrapper for snappier ginger.

Cutaneo is not a faint-hearted chef (just taste his garlic-infused olive oil bread dip). Other internationally influenced appetizers were winners. Deftly fried calamari, first soaked in milk for tenderness, gained zing from dual dips: tangy Mexican chipotle mayo and Japanese honey wasabi. A Southwestern-inspired crispy corn waffle provided a throne for two big, fresh shrimp lightly grilled over hickory. Rich duck confit was given a pleasing East-meets-West treatment with Asian star anise and a sweet-and-sour hoisin sauce.

For me, Cutaneo’s house-made linguine was love at first bite. Precisely al dente, the pasta was lavished with earthy carbonara sauce that combined applewood-smoked bacon in lardon-size chunks with wild oyster mushrooms, truffle oil, and mild French goat cheese in place of the usual cream. The dish is outrageously rich and not at all shy about it.

Main course fish, meat, and fowl were cooked simply but perfectly: “A great piece of meat or fish speaks for itself,” he says. “I aim for integrity of taste with my mains.”

Cutaneo’s sauces and side dishes supply the style: a five-spice and sour-cherry jus on delectable roasted duck breast; a creamy leek fondue with pan-seared sea bass; a scoop of Roquefort tucked into the 45-day aged Colorado filet mignon, its side of mashed potatoes irresistible with truffle butter, made in-house with slices of real truffle.

Not a single entrée of the dozen I tasted over two visits disappointed. I was captivated by Cutaneo’s generous quintet of Jersey dayboat scallops, lightly seared and accessorized by a snappy orange-ginger glaze and crisp snow peas. I polished off a huge plate of his boneless short ribs, braised for five hours to seductive tenderness. Pork tenderloin absorbs a dry rub of sugar and black pepper for 24 hours, then is grilled, caramelizing the sugar, finished in the oven, and sliced into ten thick pieces. They’re arranged like a teepee around a Granny Smith apple slaw in a sweet mirin (rice wine) dressing. Finally, the meat is bathed in caramelized whiskey broth—booze reduced with pork jus and black pepper. The dish is a knockout.

Cutaneo served as Michel Guérard’s pastry chef. Housemade ice cream and sorbet, made to individual order with a Pacojet gizmo from Switzerland, are intensely flavored. Cheesecake—midway in texture between deli dense and ricotta pillowy—is worthy. Vanilla crème brulée, barely flavored with lavender, was a bit understated for my taste buds, but ancho-chili chocolate mousse memorably combined a touch of heat with the nuttiness of Venezuelan cacao.

Where Equus falls off its horse is service. Cutaneo says he hired 90 percent of the front-of-house staff (the rest were holdovers from before his arrival) and personally trained everyone. If that’s the case, it’s hard to explain why his managers blithely allow servers to loiter and converse in the dining room or leave the kitchen door open to the main dining room, broadcasting cafeteria-style clanging. It also makes it hard to understand why the hostess’ sole greeting to one group was a brusque, “Party of four?”

We experienced long waits for bread and menus—the bread didn’t appear until, after nearly an hour, we specifically asked for it. After discovering that our waiter couldn’t describe the wines at all, we asked about the basil mojito. The bartender came to our table and informed us, “We’re out of basil,” then added, astonishingly, “and don’t order a mojito here. Mine suck.” At the end of our second poorly-paced, three-hour meal—at nearly midnight, when we were one of just two or three parties left—we waited half an hour without receiving the check, finally tracking down a waiter to request it. Cutaneo says his staff “can read whether diners want European-type service—a three-hour meal—or if they want four courses in an hour and a quarter, American style.” Nobody read us, as far as I can tell, or asked our preference. Everything just took a long time.

Cutaneo was the business student who decided to become a chef. Twenty years down the road, Great Scott needs a professional management team to run Equus so he can continue to challenge and gratify the demanding palates of Bernardsville.