Maison Passerelle — Restaurant in New York

In an era of negativity, Gregory Gourdet's Maison Passerelle stands as a luminous reminder that goodness flourishes in unexpected places. Stepping into this space where rainbow light filters through stained glass and frescoes chronicle resilience, your cynicism softens. This Top Chef luminary hasn't just opened another restaurant; he's created a sanctuary where French culinary traditions dance with his Haitian heritage—powerful, unapologetic, and transformative.

The open kitchen is Gourdet's manifesto. From the chef's counter, I witnessed a masterclass in human connection. The team moves with the synchronicity of veteran dancers, each member fully present yet completely committed to the collective. Watching Gourdet himself, tweezers in hand, approaching each plate with reverent precision, you witness leadership at its finest—not dominance, but facilitation of excellence.

My journey began with an amuse bouche—a broth so rich it should have its own tax bracket. Perfectly balanced with mushrooms, paper-thin fresno chilis delivering subtle heat, and herbs coexisting in harmonious distinction. This wasn't just umami; this was umami that graduated with honors.

The Pikliz Mignonette oysters presented themselves as small miracles of vulnerability. Their mignonette carried classic French technique infused with Haitian soul—something extraordinary that my palate is still trying to decode.

My Coffee Rub Steak Frites featured a 30-day aged NY strip, medium rare—perfectly poised between "still mooing" and "leather shoe." The coffee jus wasn't just good—it was divine, creating THE perfect bite each time without overpowering the exquisite meat. The frites weren't mere potatoes; they were tubers that found their higher calling, dusted in culinary magic.

While ketchup and mayonnaise typically accompany frites in the standard French bistro playbook, Gregory's creole ketchup and remoulade demonstrate what happens when communities forged in resilience decide to reinvent culinary standards. Gregory, I'm begging you—BOTTLE THIS KETCHUP IMMEDIATELY. For the love of all things sacred, I need cases of this magical concoction in my pantry and at my fingertips at a moment’s notice. The remoulade too! If people are buying avocado mayonnaise (which, let's be honest, is just regular mayonnaise with commitment issues), your remoulade deserves prime shelf space at Whole Foods yesterday. These aren't condiments; they're edible manifestos of cultural reclamation that happen to be insanely, transcendently delicious.

When news cycles and broken systems exhaust your belief in human goodness, when cruelty seems the defining feature of our species, when you're tempted to disconnect to protect your heart—look up, as this dining room invites you to do, and remember the kitchen at Maison Passerelle.

Moving from the elegant DuMOL Pinot Noir to the woman-led Great Heart Cabernet reminded me that business itself can be a force for good. Maison Passerelle offers more than cuisine—it provides sanctuary for beleaguered hope. Here is proof that people still create with integrity, still serve with dignity. You leave not merely satisfied but subtly awakened, carrying reminders that transformation isn't about becoming something you're not; it's about integrating all that you are.

While the goodness in this kitchen doesn't erase the world's darkness, it insists that light persists—sometimes in unexpected places, always worth celebrating. After all, isn't that the ultimate purpose of any table worth...

High prices? Check.

Small portions? Check.

Massive hype? Check.

I don't know if Americans realize that fashion restaurants aren't supposed to be the price-gouging disappointments they so often are here....but, they aren't. Like, the Prada Cafe in Milan charges bistro-level prices for high-quality dishes like saffron risotto that come in nonna-level amounts. By comparison, NYC places like Maison Passerelle and the Louis Vuitton Cafe charge three Michelin-star prices for mid-quality dishes at ant-like portions. Sigh.

I'll give Passerelle props for "trying" to inject some Haitian flavor into an otherwise dull French menu, but this is one clear case where intent does not equal execution.

For a girls' night dinner, the four of us started with a complimentary amuse bouche of mushrooms in broth--and if the actual dishes had been like this, I would be writing a different review. Sadly, the amuse bouche was probably the best part of our meal.

We got the Warm Plantain Bread & Butter to share, except that wasn't possible because the bread was the size of half an iPhone, and we were basically stuck trying to cut it into teeny-tiny bites. It was decent quality, but generally unremarkable. And the seasoned butter accompaniments were nice but no different than the housemade butter offered at tons of other restaurants.

For entrees, my Spaghetti Homard was a laughably small cut of lobster tail with an even tinier dallop of spaghetti and tomato sauce. It took about 5 bites to finish and cost more than $40. Seriously? I mean, I kind of get skimping on the lobster--but why be so stingy with the pasta and sauce? And if Haitian influences were intended to be present in the sauce, I must've missed the memo because the sauce wasn't even spicy.

The Cane Syrup Glazed Duck was bland and forgettable with no hint of pineapple or tamarind as the menu promised. We also got a side salad to share, but that's not even worth typing about. Frankly, the Diri ak Sos Pwa side (jasmine rice and red kidney bean sauce) was the best part of our meal, and that just tasted like any rice and beans dish I've had.

We were all still hungry after our small, lackluster entrees, so we ended up spending way too much money for dessert. The Coconut Chiboust was another over-promised, under-delivered item that was apparently intended to deliver lemongrass and makrut lime flavors along with the main toasted coconut sorbet, but mostly just tasted like coconut water with a hint of lime. The Rose Kayenn was more complex and interesting, but still not worth the price point for what was essentially sorbet with shaved ice. I will say the Souffle was delicious, but at $21, I would rather just make my own.

The drinks were equally disappointing $20+ glasses of under-delivering concoctions, like the bland Situationship and a Sticky Rice cocktail that didn't taste like any sticky rice my Asian childhood has ever had.

Sadly, the only impression Maison Passerelle made was on my wallet, and it wasn't a positive one. If I want Haitian, I think I'll stick to the flavorful mom 'n' pop shops we still have...

This restaurant left a sincere impression on my spirit.

The first person responsible for feeding me understood what it meant to be well fed. With her gifted hands, not only could she knead her daily biscuit dough, but she could use those hands both as a cutting board, dicing peppers and onions mid-air, and as scale, measuring salt, baking soda, seasonings, and all else precisely by how it felt in the palm of her hand. Never a gram or ounce over or under. My mama was concerned not only with the palpability of any given meal, but also with our family’s satisfaction of feeling the warmth, raw emotions, and history that settled the food into our heart’s memories. That type of cooking is a rare gift. While I feel that we have carried on her traditions inside our own walls, outside meals, though often enjoyable, rarely write love notes to my spirit. And while I’m grateful to have had the opportunity to enjoy many delicious meals outside of my house during my lifetime, it is a rare privilege to be able to visit a restaurant and be blessed by a chef who evokes the spirit of my mother. A gifted woman whose table would make you sing.

Maison Passerelle, led by Chef Gregory and his friendly and genuine team, both behind the scenes and in the front of house, lead an experience that feels and tastes like home, begging you to remember and hold tightly to the love in every bite. Each dish is cohesively crafted with kind and curious intentions, and you can literally feel the rice and beans writing forget-me-nots on your bones.

One thing that I have perpetually found challenging about fine dining experiences is the over emphasis on skillful renderings vs. spiritual manifestations. I’m fully confident that Chef Gregory made the powerful choice to focus on love and memory over skill and ego.

When you go there, and I hope you will, make sure you get the plantain bread and a side of rice and beans if it’s all you get. Dip that bread in the bean gravy, put it in your mouth and close your eyes. If that’s all you do here, you will have done enough.

Enjoy this culinary gift. It’s rare. Because it’s all...