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Appetizers $6-$9 soups/salads $4-$9 Three dishes are better than one at Trilogy. This little trio is tender cod, winter vegetables and butternut-squash ravioli topped with vanilla brown butter. TRILOGY We can see, almost touch Trilogy's bright burgundy awning as we putter down Liberty Avenue. We arrive, and while attempting to dock our vintage Toyota without scraping the curb or the fancy limo straight ahead, the valet seemingly vaporizes from thin air. Tossing him the keys to our mighty V-4, we turn our attention to the vast yet intimate ground-level restaurant-in-a-skyscraper, which immediately lightens our attitudes. "You could fly a kite in here if they whipped up a little breeze," quips my husband, Brad, eyeballing the metamorphic transformation of Two PNC's former retail banking floor into what's now Trilogy, a luxurious state-of-the-art restaurant with two kitchens, a glowing bar and lots of chemistry. Swanky skyscrapers never lose their cool, no matter how many times you've seen them. Their stationary perspective microscopically dwarfs human figures and exponentially enlarges imaginations. One can easily get lost in the adrenaline rush, the majesty, the mellow lighting, the revolving doors. Front windows open to the city, and after dark, the red resin bar lit from above and below softens the firmly rooted real world with the kind of light movie stars covet to catch their best side. Little girls in long puffy skirts twirl in floor-to-ceiling red-velvet curtains and return to their table in a kind of frozen awe. A wave of young professionals swarms the bar area, collapsing into tan and black furniture with colorful cocktails and alluring food for grazing - tiny, perfect little mushroom tarts, pork wontons, spicy Thai shrimp, yellowfin-tuna tartare. La Strada was formerly here, until last fall, when owner (and daily operator) Todd Frischling changed the restaurant's concept, renamed it and hired the very talented chef Ryan Racicot. For obvious reasons, things at Trilogy tend to come in threes, from plasma televisions above the bar to crafty menu selections. However, if you were thinking of Tolkien's Middle-earth - there's no connection. Rather, Frischling said the name Trilogy was one of those things that sneak up on you in a brainstorming session (his wife, Amanda, gets the credit). Addictive but comfortable eating, says Frischling. "We don't want you to feel you have to wear a suit and tie to have a good meal." Gregarious Racicot concurs. "I call it 'forward-thinking' modern American cuisine, with indigenous ingredients presented in a playful manner. Trilogy is a lively place where people should relax and discover new and interesting food. I'm committed to staying ahead of the trends, to see what people are willing to try in Pittsburgh." Best of all, enjoy the act of enjoying every course and still order dessert without fiddling with the notches on your belt. Pittsburghers are notoriously staunch believers in big portions, but portions that provide meals for the next day are out here. Racicot's quotation marks pepper the menu, his way of letting customers know he's having fun with tradition. His specials are "inspirations." Imagine this recent foie-gras trilogy: foie gras with apricot custard served in an eggshell; foie-gras torshon on brioche with port-wine syrup and charred pineapple; an exploding truffle ravioli stuffed with foie gras and duck confit. When you cut into the ravioli, the sauce explodes. Your server will pluck a slice of Tuscan or walnut-raisin bread from a basket as often as you like. I vouch for roasted-cauliflower bisque - it's practically buoyant. The comfort of a thick soup is one of those food things that is practically indisputable. Aromatic onion gratin has a deep, rich flavor. Gruyere covers the crouton floating on top. There's electricity in the cilantro-lime vinaigrette, the reason for ordering a "harvest" salad, perfectly crisp with roasted Pennsylvania corn and baby beets. We imagine complementing a post-work martini with the virtuous jumbo lump crab accompanied by a three-lane racetrack of guacamole, papaya salsa and finely chopped mango with vanilla-bean oil. Our server had a sense of humor - relief for a restaurant reviewer or a spouse explaining the latest tangle of mortgage rates to an uninterested dinner-mate. He played along with "trilogy," and he also volunteered a sort of Google service. If he didn't know an answer, he knew where to get it. For example, we now know that the paintings are made expressly for the restaurant by artists Charles Olson and Patrick Kelly. Both use modern nuance to inventively incorporate the stuff of gastronomics. It's lovely to sit by a painting. Surf-and-turf abandons steak-house stereotypes, substituting pan-roasted Maine dayboat sea scallops and short ribs braised eight long hours with melted leeks and truffle emulsion - a tricky subject for barbecue snobs who are into primal experiences. "But it's nice to have ribs that you don't have to rip off the bone, and scallops are a bonus," notes the chef. The meat is flavorful and juicy, with a slightly sentimental sauce that offers a slight zing. Here's Racicot's take on pork and sauerkraut: roasted pork tenderloin wrapped in Applewood bacon served with braised Napa cabbage. There's also potato ravioli, which you'll like if you're a pierogie fan. Innovative potato presentations are a signature, replacing the risottos and pastas popular of late. Linguini with littleneck clams and spicy Portuguese lamb sausage is a zany rendition of linguini with clam sauce without the flour and heavy sauce. "It feels like summer" is the fantasy behind cedar-plank salmon with fresh corn, fingerling potato ragout and sweet cream corn pureed with cilantro oil. For now, daily specials allow a talented young chef to strut his stuff. And Racicot is a humble chef. He wants people to know he couldn't do it without sous chef Sam Cerminara.
Finish your meal with three flavorful twists on a classic French dessert: chambord, chocolate and Grand Marnier creme brulee, served together in small, neat portions. Photo by Laura Petrilla I was watching the little girl in her fancy dress at the table next to us, checking to see if she braved the menu or ordered buttered noodles, a cheeseburger maybe. Her plate arrived as grown-up as her clothing. She didn't make a face or murmur "yuck." In fact, she was the first to finish. As was I. For a moment we exchanged mischievous grins. I wanted to tell her about the time I hid behind curtains like these to nab autographs from Sonny and Cher. Instead I said, "It was a wonderful evening." She smiled in agreement, as if she was storing the experience away as a memory to cherish. One, two three . . . and the beat goes on.
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Each month, Deborah McDonald jump-starts appetites with lively restaurant reviews that scrutinize who's cooking what and where. She works anonymously, visiting each restaurant at least twice before writing her column. Do you know of a restaurant you'd like to have reviewed? | ||
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Final trilogies read like film snippets from Dreamworks. Creme brulée adds another dimension to the standard vanilla experience: velvety chocolate, Grand Marnier and chambord under the traditional smooth, brittle shell; a papery, seven-layer apple-pecan strudel with sugared butternut squash; a sacrilegious banana "split" with French vanilla gelato in compartments with drunken cherries, candied almond and pineapple rillette. 
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