The effect of this kind of high-wire cooking is somewhat diluted by the restaurant’s setting. I’m sure there are many good (and lucrative) reasons for Robuchon to locate his newest gourmet outlet in the happy-hour area of the Four Seasons hotel. But providing his patrons with the sense of specialness that comes with dining in a great restaurant doesn’t seem to be one of them. A visit to the restroom requires a circuitous trip past the hotel newsstand, and if you’re early for your table, you must elbow through a rabble of martini-addled bankers to wait at the bar. But these hassles don’t completely diminish the pleasures of dessert creations like “Le Sucre,” which is a giant pearl of spun sugar containing a deposit of fluffy, egglike white and yellow cream. Crack the shell, and watch it all melt together with a variety of esoterically flavored jellies (blackberries, violets, litchis) and creams. It’s the most ornate, overdone, and resolutely French dish on the menu at L’Atelier, and after a bite, or two, it might even make you a little wistful for the vanishing pleasures of the ancien régime.


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