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Picnic

A beloved Fair Lawn off-premise ace teams with a friend to give fans a place to pull up a chair.

Reviewed by Pat Tanner   
Posted February 15, 2011

Picnic fare includes Berkshire pork chop with apples, bacon and brandy butter.

Photo by David Michael Howarth.

Chef and one-time caterer Christine Nunn, standing, once reviewed restaurants for a newspaper. Her business partner, Annabel Schlair, is a graphic artist.

Photo by David Michael Howarth.

Oysters Rockefeller.

Photo by David Michael Howarth.

The dining room at Picnic.

Photo by David Michael Howarth.

Picnic may be the Johnny Depp of restaurants. Like the charmingly roguish actor, the Fair Lawn bistro clicks on all cylinders all the time, thanks to serious dedication to craft. Depplike, it also has fun up its sleeve and a wink in its eye, as in its cheeky slogan, “Fine Fabulous Food,” which, by the way, it lives up to, with seasonal American cuisine that is impeccable yet approachable. And, like the casual leading man, Picnic is youthful, attractive and exudes an air of joie de vivre.

Picnic grew out of chef/co-owner Christine Nunn’s highly successful catering and lunch takeout business (in Emerson) of the same name, for which she won numerous awards—including from NJM readers, for its lunch, deli and takeout. It was Nunn’s friend, neighbor and now business partner, Annabel Schlair, who came up with the idea for a fine dining venture. A native of Wimbledon, London, Schlair serves as the restaurant’s gracious host; both she and Nunn fairly buzz around the 36-seat dining room, which opened in July 2010.

The two reside in Radburn, a fascinating unincorporated planned community within Fair Lawn founded in 1929 as “a town for the motor age.”

“The idea was you could walk everywhere and that everything was private,” says Nunn, who grew up there. Schlair, a graphic artist, has lived in Radburn since 1996. “Annabel and I live so close we could skip to work,” says Nunn, in the typically exuberant style that she evinces during her frequent stops at each table during meals. When Schlair learned that a Quiznos was closing in the town’s signature Radburn Plaza building, she approached her friend during a party. “A lot of bottles of wine later,” Nunn laughs, “here we are. It’s a dream come true.”

Nunn’s cuisine is simultaneously homey and sophisticated, familiar and new. The dishes reflect not only the calendar but also the absolute best of what’s in the markets. Deep in winter, salmon will be walnut crusted and pan roasted, accompanied by roasted, buttered blackberry relish or topped with tapenade and anchovy nage. An impressive number of changes appear daily.

We were lucky to hit during white-truffle season and were rewarded with soft and silky scrambled eggs, for which Nunn herself imparted the shavings at our table, and wild-mushroom and white-Alba-truffle risotto. For that, imagine the best possible version of soft, glossy wild mushrooms, fragrant white truffle at the peak of its powers and risotto with a texture that hits the sweet spot between al dente and creamy.

Nunn, a 2003 CIA graduate, was once a journalist and restaurant critic for the Record of Bergen County. The events of September 11, convinced her to follow her lifelong dream. “I always loved to cook,” says the 46-year-old. “Throughout childhood I recall watching Julia Child on TV with my mother, who would then go into the kitchen and make whatever it was for dinner.”

The imprint of classical French technique is most apparent in the cunningly updated sauces that envelop the contemporary American dishes here. A hunk of pristine Chatham cod encrusted with crispy hash browns is a triumph on its own, but is taken to the next level with a Dijon beurre blanc that adds piquance and opulence. Similarly, a wonderfully caramelized Berkshire pork chop rewards with silky, dense, highly flavored meatiness that seems almost ham-like. Piled with sautéed apples and bacon and brandy butter it reaches the sublime. This centerpiece protein, like all entrées here, rounds out with equally compelling sides­—on one visit, sweet potato purée and soft sautéed spinach.

Often the menu includes the note “Kicking it old school,” and these are among my favorite dishes. Depending on the time of year, it might be Swedish meatballs with egg noodles; green, minty grasshopper pie; or a version of calves’ liver with onions and ridiculously rich homestyle mashed potatoes with flawless red wine sauce flecked with postage stamps of robust bacon.

Starters are equally compelling. Count among these incomparable lobster bisque; oxtail marmalade that accompanies volcano-shaped roasted marrow bones (the molten interiors of which had me licking the tiny spoon with which I dug them out); creamy, lush oysters Rockefeller made with Moonstone oysters from Maine that contribute a pleasantly metallic counterpoint; and one other dish that should become a signature, if it isn’t already. This consists of a small ramekin of Gruyère fondue—its unctuousness well balanced by white wine—accompanied by nubbins of distinctive duck and wild-boar sausages from D’Artagnan, cubes of baguette and bits of fresh green apple. I submit it’s the best $10 you can spend in a restaurant these days.

Of course, not everything attains these heights. Loin of venison lacks any hint of gaminess (although its juniper-and-aquavit demi-glace shines). Café salad with aged gouda, dried cranberries, poached pears and spicy pralines tossed in sherry vinaigrette sounds better than the “eh” it delivers. The sweet glaze on a superior piece of king salmon made me feel I had eaten this dish many times before. Desserts vary wildly. On the one hand, chocolate cheesecake manages to please both chocolate lovers and cheesecake purists, and buttery almond-raspberry torte ranks with the best that Linz has to offer. But workmanlike Key lime pie and a too-sweet, too-gooey tarte Tatin lose points.

These shortcomings are easy to forgive, though, partly because of the outstanding service. For example, we couldn’t detect the aged gouda in the café salad, so our obliging server, Michelle, immediately showered more on (inexplicitly, to no avail). When she couldn’t tell us how the pork chop’s pink yet cooked interior was produced, she summoned the chef to our table. On another occasion, one of us declined (sotto voce, or so we thought) to taste the lobster bisque we were swooning over because she didn’t want to share her cold germs. Instantaneously, a second spoon appeared at her place, along with a smile.

Schlair personally designed the dining room, which, with the most attractive and comfortable dining chairs ever, has the feel of an oversized dining room in the tastefully decorated home of a warm, knowing and unpretentious friend. Pale aqua and dark chocolate are the predominant colors, relieved by linen-shaded sconces and drum pendants that supply soft lighting. Sparkle comes from a line of rectangular mirrors marching down one long wall, from shimmery silk drapes sewn by Schlair herself, and, at the rear of the room, from a series of wine cubicles and lighted shelves that act as room divider, which Schlair designed.