Training day

The Atlantic Culinary Academy gets a solid B+

By Kathy Gunst

L’Esprit at The Atlantic Culinary Academy, Silver Street, Dover, NH, (603) 750-1504.

Lunch and dinner served Mon. through Fri. only; lunch from 11:30 a.m. to 1 p.m., dinner from 5:30 to 7 p.m. Reservations required for lunch and dinner. The restaurant offers an impressive, reasonably priced wine list.

HALL OF ACADEMIA: L’Esprit at the Atlantic Culinary Academy gets high marks for ambition, quality, and price.

Eating at a culinary academy is a lot like going to a beauty school for a haircut. The price is right, but you never know what you’ll get for your money — a brilliant creation by the class valedictorian, or a hack job by some kid squeaking by on a 2.0 grade point average.

On a recent afternoon my husband and I drove to Dover, New Hampshire, for lunch at the Atlantic Culinary Academy. The Academy, part of McIntosh College, offers a Cordon Bleu diploma to students who complete a rigorous 12 months of training. The world-wide reputation of the Cordon Bleu helped lure us to the school’s student-run restaurant, L’Esprit, as did the promise of a four-course lunch for a mere $7.95.

The academy is located in a former Holiday Inn, sandwiched between the Spaulding Turnpike and a couple of gas stations. It’s not the most elegant setting for a “French” restaurant. But, entering the school, we could see into the kitchen through a large picture window where dozens of culinary students decked out in tall white toques were hard at work, preparing lunch for a dining room filled with locals and business people.

We were ushered into a large dining room that had all the charm of, you guessed it, a Holiday Inn. We sat and waited for close to 10 minutes, listening to jazzy muzak, hoping someone would pay attention to us. Finally I asked a young woman if she could take our order. She began breathing heavily and then explained through nervous giggles: “This is our first day working on the wait staff, so if I seem nervous I’m really sorry but we’re all just really, really nervous.”

Okay, I remember what the first day on the job is like, but how about some bread? She eventually brought us water, and a basket of French bread with a bowl of olive oil and balsamic vinegar. I asked if the bread was homemade and she informed us that everything was made on the premises except the butter. “We actually do make butter,” she giggled. “But not until later in our studies.”

The bread, though cold, was good and the oil and vinegar dipping sauce delicious. We ate it all and waited another 10 minutes for someone to take our order. The first waitress was at the next table telling the customers that “it’s our first day and we’re really, really nervous. . . ”

The four-course menu began with a choice of chicken consommé with thin slivers of vegetables or potato corn chowder. We ordered one of each and watched the waiter wobble trays of soup to nearby tables. Everyone seemed very unsure and I reminded myself to be patient. Hey, one of these students could be the next Julia Child. The soup was finally delivered by a new waitress — young, serious, and quiet. The chicken consommé was watery and nearly tasteless. Ditto on the corn and potato chowder. I asked the waitress for sparkling water. “Well we have it,” she said, looking thoroughly confused, “but it’s not going to be cold.” I asked if they had any ice. It was as though a light bulb went off. “Oh yeah,” she said and smiled.

We were losing hope as the salads arrived. But the haricot vert, potato, and walnut salad turned out to be perfectly respectable. The thin green beans were crunchy and delicious. They were scattered with pungent blue cheese and a thick balsamic-based vinaigrette. The Salade Maison was a mixture of fresh greens, vegetables, and buttery croutons. Okay — things were looking up.

While we waited for our main courses we chatted with a waiter from South Carolina who had arrived in New Hampshire just weeks earlier and was already missing the spring temperatures of the South. “How do you like the food so far?” he asked with real sincerity.

“They teach us everything here,” he explained. “When we graduate we will have learned about all aspects of food. And, of course, we get our Cordon Bleu diploma. That makes all the hard work worth it.” Our main courses arrived and he bowed, like an old time waiter from the South, smiled, and walked away.

The Maple Mustard Glazed Salmon was terrific. An ample size filet with an excellent maple syrup glaze; a scattering of roasted walnuts and cracked peppercorns offset the grilled fish beautifully. The Lyonnaise potatoes that came with the salmon were tender and flavorful. The Sautéed Chicken a la Normande consisted of two thin filets of chicken in an exceedingly creamy sauce, rich with Calvados, topped with sautéed apple slices and wild mushrooms. The rice pilaf and julienne of carrots, red peppers, squash, and onion were delicious, but everything on the plate was in serious need of salt.

At the next table a group of older women were oooo-ing and aaaah-ing over the elaborate tin foil swan that their leftovers were wrapped in. “Wait ’til the girls at the office see this,” one of them crooned. The waitress smiled nervously.

Sacher torte, the classic Viennese chocolate cake, was served for dessert and it was a knockout. The chocolate glaze topping was inscribed with the word “Sacher” in elaborate chocolate script and the rich chocolate-nut cake was surrounded by a mango and raspberry coulis. It was a beautiful, professionally made finale.

Our bill came to $24 — $7.95 each for the four-course lunch, $1 each for Perrier, and another dollar for hot tea, and a tip. We both had to admit that we had never really been served such ambitious food in such large quantities, for such a reasonable price. No doubt about it, this was a lot of bang for the buck. I actually will look forward to going back for dinner (seven courses for $15.95), but I think I’ll wait until the students are a bit farther along in their training.