THENEWYORKER,MARCH2, 2020 11
PHOTOGRAPH BY COLE WILSON FOR THE NEW YORKER; ILLUSTRATION BY JOOST SWARTE
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TABLESFORTWO
Le Crocodile
80 Wythe St., Brooklyn
The answer to the question of what you
should order at Le Crocodile, a new
French restaurant in Williamsburg, is
hiding in plain sight. On the postcard
that comes with your check and on the
books of matches and toothpicks by the
host stand, a series of charmingly naïf
illustrations depict a chicken, standing
alone or disappearing into the toothy,
gaping jaw of a somewhat gleeful-looking
reptile. At Le Crocodile, you are the croc-
odile—get ready to toss le poulet lustily
down your gullet. Half of a roasted one
comes dripping with jus and sprinkled
with chopped parsley, its crisp skin the
same shade of golden as the bistro-style
French fries piled high beside it.
It’s a thrillingly enormous portion of
food, befitting this thrillingly enormous
sort of restaurant, which took the place of
Andrew Tarlow’s Reynard at the Wythe
Hotel. The poulet frites is not instead of
steak frites, it’s in addition to it—and Le
Crocodile’s steak frites is not just plain
old steak frites, it’s steak frites au poivre,
meaning that the meat is encrusted in
cracked peppercorn and finished with
a velvety spoonful of pan sauce. The
menu offers four varieties of pâté, plus a
duck-and-rabbit rillette. There are leeks
vinaigrette and leek gratin, pot-au-feu
and cassoulet. There are six varieties of
gin-and-tonic, and no fewer than twelve
desserts: profiteroles and madeleines,
flourless chocolate cake and chocolate pot
de crème, tarte au citron and tarte tatin.
The chefs, Aidan O’Neal and Jake
Leiber, mastered the art of the neigh-
borhood restaurant with Chez Ma
Tante, the French-ish place they opened
in Greenpoint in 2017. At the Wythe,
their ambition is bolder—Williamsburg
has become an extension of Manhattan,
the hotel’s swanky vibe would have you
believe, and they can make it here, too. Le
Crocodile is Brooklyn’s answer to Balth-
azar; with just a few smart design tweaks
(higher wainscoting, built-in booths, vel-
vet chairs), the dining room has been
transformed from rustic wedding venue
to glamorous brasserie.
As at Balthazar, the menu’s breadth
of fine-tuned favorites gives it an edge
over French restaurants with smaller
menus that tend toward the novel or the
esoteric. At Bar Bête, which opened in
December, in Carroll Gardens, a mid-
course omelette filled with peekytoe
crabmeat, topped with togarashi, and
served with seaweed butter overprom-
ised and underdelivered; at Le Croco-
dile, a much simpler, technically perfect
omelette, served with greens and lightly
pickled chanterelles, held its own among
the murderers’ row of plats principaux.
This is not to say that Le Crocodile
resists risk or trends entirely. One of the
four pâtés is meatless, made with shii-
take, maitake, and cremini mushrooms
and achieves a remarkably convincing
I-can’t-believe-it’s-not-liver texture. A
pork chop is served with kale, anchovies,
and a slice of burrata (which was de-
scribed by a server as “a palate cleanser”);
a gloriously fatty duck breast is strewn
with sticky-sweet kumquats. You’ll find
cacio-e-pepe orzo, and a crab salad with
the spicy Japanese condiment yuzu kosho.
But what’s most exciting about Le
Crocodile is that its young and ener-
getic chefs seem focussed mainly on
perfecting—and occasionally gently
revising—an encyclopedia of classics. A
plate of de-shelled escargot and thinly
sliced fennel in a broth fragrant with
Pernod was powerfully transportive. A
French 75 made with Cognac left me
wondering what I had against the stuff—
it had seemed suited only for a snifter in
a smoke-filled library or, worse, a trashy
night club, but suddenly struck me as
elegant and refreshing.
One evening, two women at the next
table enjoyed separate orders of the roast
chicken. At a moment in restaurant
culture when “everything is meant to
be shared” is practically a mandate, this
seemed like a radical, liberating move,
and one that a menu like this encourages.
Even with a large party, you couldn’t pos-
sibly try everything in one visit, so you
might as well order just exactly what you
feel like. Share in pleasure, if not plates,
then come back for more. (Dishes $9-$91.)
—Hannah Goldfield
