Gilt

I was recently asked if I were familiar with "molecular gastronomy." Although I was vaguely aware of the culinary experiments of Ferran Adria and Grant Achatz, I'd never eaten the fruits (and meats) of their labors.

My interest was piqued, and I began searching for articles about this culinary science. Apparently, some chefs are stretching food preparation to the outer limits of possibility. Armed with new technical knowledge and a desire to push the papillote, they're creating a whole new world of cuisine.

Tonight, my companion and I made a pilgrimage to New York's new shrine to molecular gastronomy: Gilt. We didn't know quite what to expect when we walked through the doors of what used to be Le Cirque 2000. (We'd imagined that the cuisine of 3000 would be housed in a structure more like this.)

However, Chef Paul Liebrandt's powerful imagination soon engulfed us to the point where we no longer noticed the decor. His cuisine naturally lends itself to metaphor; I found myself commenting that we were eating snowflakes - intricate works of art which melted in our mouths.

Gilt's menu includes "Classical" and "Modern" prix fixe selections (there's also a separate daily tasting menu). One may choose appetizers and entrees from either list. (I went with a classical appetizer and a modern entree.)

After ordering some Pinot Grigio (the cocktail prices made us wonder if the restaurant should've been named Guilt, or Gelt), we were served our first amuse-bouche: a spoonful of sprouts atop a heap of shredded filo, some arugula financiers with an internal surprise of melted Stilton, black truffle discs filled with red onion chutney, and dried beet curls with sour salt. The financiers included a sweet pear-raisin chutney that was just wonderful with the Stilton.

We were then delighted by a second round: artichoke foam with a hidden egg and crispy black trumpet mushrooms in a charmingly askew cup, smoky crimson venison carpaccio, scallop tortellini in a heady marine broth with pea shoots, and a disc of chicken accented with fennel. Each dish was a small universe of flavor, color and texture. I was reminded of chawan mushi, a Japanese egg custard which holds little surprises the farther one's spoon travels.

And then, the bread! How were we to choose from this selection of hot rolls: olive, Serrano, potato, sweet chestnut, and flaky brioche? Naturally, we each had about three of them. Two different butters arrived on stone slabs: unsalted L'Escure and salted English butter.

Then, we were treated to a stimulating palate-cleanser. A mother-of-pearl shell was the setting for a scoop of wasabi-sprinkled apple sorbet in a few drops of precious Armando Manni olive oil. Our appetites thus stoked, we were ready for our appetizers.

Although I'd been tempted by the porcini crumble with baby turnips, I'd ordered the butternut squash soup. Foam was poured on top of curried orange foam, a shard of Parmesan, crisp sage leaves and a few delectable Parmesan tortellini. My companion went modern, choosing the "flavors of winter." Of these five dishes, most memorable for me was the purple baby abalone jelly. There was also a crab cake underneath a gelee into which herbs were suspended and a plate of sweetbreads.

Another round of bread, and we were ready for our entrees. Each of them was a sort of themed fantasy: my companion's theme was beet, and mine was coriander. Beet puree surrounded thick slices of rich Peking duck and leaves of crispy red chard. (We were constantly amazed at the Liebrandt's ability to keep thinly sliced vegetables perfectly crispy in a soup or sauce.) More beets, served steaming from plastic wrap, accompanied the duck. My loup de mer had a crown of sweet coriander "glass," and underneath the fish I discovered a profusion of snow peas, pearl onions, Thai basil and tiny black squid-ink gnocchi. My side dish was a coriander fish stew; razor clams, large sweet shrimp and starlike baby squid sat in a broth with sea beans and tiny potatoes.

Dessert was just as elaborate. First, there was another amuse-bouche: clementine sections and lychee sorbet amid a smattering of crunchy orange cookie pellets, mint leaves and cubes of fruit gel. Then, for the main event, my companion chose the passionfruit souffle with sour cream guava sorbet (and more artisanal olive oil); I, of course, desired some chocolate. The menu listed two chocolate desserts: chocolate chili and chocolate peanut butter. The latter brought me to new heights of ecstasy. Described as an assortment of "warm chocolate croneski, peanut butter chocolate, rice crispie croquant and fleur de sel caramel," it was an intense concoction which mixed sweet and salty, creamy and crunchy. Streams of warm chocolate flooded out of three globes of chocolate cake, mixed with small dots of caramel, and made their way over to a dense oval of creamy peanut butter and chocolate atop a layer of nuts and crisped rice. Before I knew it, my companion's fork had claimed half of the peanut butter chocolate. I didn't mind, however, because a plate of petits fours soon arrived. (I loved the pistachio financier, the passionfruit pate de fruit, and the mint-foam-topped key lime tart.) Also, there was a cigar box full of homemade truffles: coconut, Pedro Ximenez sherry, mint, espresso, and matcha. We were told that we could eat as many truffles as we wanted!

As if all of this weren't enough, we were plied with pretty bags of homemade macarons upon our departure. I haven't yet mustered up the appetite to try them, but I know they are no ordinary macarons. True to the adventurous nature of Gilt, one of them is topped with chili powder.

Gilt: 455 Madison Ave. at the New York Palace Hotel, (212) 891-8100.