But if Ciesielski's simplicity attracts, it also has the capacity to leave me longing for more. His osso buco was severe in its lack of adornment: a great knob of meat whose uncompromising effect could have been softened by another 45 minutes in the oven, or a ladleful of braising juices. But what came with it (described in L'aventure's austere menu prose as "pasta") was simply compelling -- flat noodles set off by asparagus tips and whole scallions that were, naturally, roasty and slightly caramelized.
A word about that prose. In an age of effusive menus, it's refreshing and even amusing to come upon a dish, Emince de Blanc de Volaille aux Poivrons, that is translated as "sliced chicken breast with bell peppers." That modest description is deceptive, of course. Ciesielski stuffs the breast with the pungent fresh herb mixture he loves to use, roasts it on two sides, leaving it pink in the middle, and adds one of his graceful brown reductions along with the marqueed red peppers. Moral: what sounds terminally boring here is, in all likelihood, not.
Even the obligatory bistro classics have their own presence. Onion soup shows a depth and complexity that springs from long-simmered veal bones. A simple vinaigrette-dressed luncheon salad tastes like an herb garden in high summer; there's even a licoricey trace of chervil in the mix. A snail appetizer appears in a long bark of flaky puff pastry, rich with earthy mushrooms, glazed pearl onions and cloves of roasted garlic; its reserved quality sets it interestingly apart from its dizzyingly garlicked cousins. Yes, these snails cost almost ten bucks -- but you can split them. And you'd almost have to split the goat cheese salad to justify its $8.50 price tag; there's nothing wrong with it, it's just too expensive (and too doused in slivered almonds).
Amazingly enough, L'aventure's desserts keep up the high standards of the place. There is nougat glace, a species of frozen whipped cream folded with pistachios and candied apricots, opulent in itself and hopelessly wicked in concert with a tart mandarin orange sauce. The midnight-dark decoration that looks like something pried off the bottom of a work boot? Highly edible honeycombed essence of chocolate.
Floating island really does float -- in an ivory sea of delicate creme anglaise, its snowy pillows of soft meringue wearing brittle, burnt-sugar squiggles that leap out in this gentle context. The indecisive can order a sampler plate that combines a bit of iced nougat with a riveting chocolate mousse that tastes much darker and deeper than it looks; its intense orange sauce, plus strips of candied orange peel of the sort you'd get in Paris, heighten the effect. But it's hard to care about white-chocolate mousse (will somebody please explain the appeal of white chocolate to me?), and the dense chocolate cake de la patronne seemed to have been sitting out for a couple of days.
For a brand-new restaurant, though, L'aventure displays surprisingly few glitches. Months from now it may be a different place: menus shake out, and prices do, too. I wonder if the cafe's target audience will embrace its price points or prod them downward, use the restaurant as a splurge or as the everyday bistro it so clearly wants to be. I wonder, too, if the generously spaced tables will find themselves closer together once the place catches on, and whether someone will turn the fundamentally pretty lighting down a notch or two. That would make the spare setting wrought by the wife of owner Daniel Drumlewicz look even better.
Mostly, though, I wonder what Olivier Ciesielski will do next. He's engagingly full of ideas, attuned to his customers and willing to improvise. He's also one of those rare Houston chefs to whom I might dare utter the dangerous phrase, "surprise me."
L'aventure Cafe, 1811 South Shepherd, 527-9800.
L'aventure:
caramelized
chicken liver
salad, $8.55;
onion soup, $5.25;
roasted redfish
with red wine
sauce, $15.50;
nougat glace,
$5.50.
