Picholine

Flavor: Comfort fare with a European flair

Ambiance: Continental chic

The street-level space at 64 Haywood St. has been something of a turnstile for café-themed businesses in the last few years. Most recently, the address served as Everyday Gourmet, a straight-ahead café with limited food options. Those who’ve been in Asheville longer recall it as Gold Hill.

Enter Picholine. The changeover occurred with a “ta-da” flourish; one day it was a café full of people with laptops and aspirations to write the next great American novel, the next day the windows had PICHOLINE CAFE AND WINE BAR painted on them in gold enamel.

In fact, not much has really changed. The bones of Gold Hill are still visible; the place’s former identity is more or less intact, except for a few new wall hangings and a revised color scheme. There is more of an emphasis on food now, which the restaurant’s decor makes clear: Racy letters above the kitchen door say “EAT,” and an outsize spoon and fork hang nearby.

On the evening my companion and I visited, a handful of staff greeted us informally, hailing us from the back of the restaurant. It seemed an inauspicious beginning, but the server’s quick arrival with menus was consoling.

Picholine’s menu is small, which was a relief to someone like me, who’s overwhelmed by the glossy, double-sided triptychs that pass for menus in many restaurants. The wine selection is commendable, and most selections are available by the glass and half-glass. A Spanish Tempranillo topped the list of reds, a fact that immediately won me over. (I’m a Spanish-wine partisan.)

It was warm, though, and my companion and I were hankering after something quenching, so we picked beer instead. There are no draft selections at Picholine, but the list of bottled beers is well chosen. My companion settled on a Highland Gaelic Ale, that most reliable of local beers. I ordered a Terrapin Rye Pale Ale, a brew from Georgia that’s nicely laced with hops but trails away quickly on the palate, making it a perfect accompaniment to savory food. Chilled glasses arrived with both.

We skipped appetizers and went straight for the entrées. To her credit, our server didn’t roll her eyes at our indecisiveness or balk at our requests for substitutions. My companion doesn’t like arugula, and asked instead for mixed greens alongside her entrée. Done, the server said.

In good time, the food arrived. My “macaroni” wasn’t macaroni at all—it was farfalle—but I’m made of stern stuff, and that little detail didn’t send me off the tracks. The bow ties were hiding inside a lidded crock with a smaller dish of coleslaw alongside. About that slaw: As with small menus, I take coleslaw as a shorthand for a restaurant’s quality. Picholine’s was perfect to my taste, balanced between creamy and tangy and with no unidentifiable specks or bits floating around in it. By any name, the macaroni, too, was delicious. Instead of puddles of melted cheese, the bow ties floated on a delicate Mornay sauce that seemed to lean heavily on tangier cheeses such as Parmesan and sharp white cheddar. My companion took up a forkful and came back for more. The message was clear: I’m going to eat your macaroni, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

She, on the other hand, chose meat loaf, which was served open-face style on a piece of focaccia with a layer of mashed potatoes between the bread and the meat. It didn’t exactly blow my mind, but it was tasty nonetheless and nicely herbed. The spring mix served in place of the arugula was fresh and crisp and absent any of the wilted tips that crop up in so many salads.

Which is not to say that our dining experience was ideal. During our meal, a real-estate agent sat at the table behind us, iBook open, unable to stop himself from carrying out a string of transactions on the phone. He was gone soon enough, but later a pair of men wandered in looking for a wireless hotspot. Maybe Picholine’s café/restaurant identity conflict will shake out in time. Maybe it’s irrelevant. Maybe I’m just a grump.

Dessert was a mixed bag. My strawberry shortcake was delicious, with berries served over a biscuit whose outside was made crisp by a sugary wash. The fresh whipped cream was pillowy and not too sweet. It didn’t matter that the berries seemed to be fresh from the freezer instead of the field; my eyes were practically rolling back in my head with pleasure.

Meanwhile, my companion was having a disappointing experience. She had ordered the chocolate torte, which was tannish in color and mostly frozen inside, hinting that it wasn’t made by some rosy-cheeked pastry chef. Still, both desserts were nicely presented on triangular plates, a fact with which I tried to console my companion. She wasn’t buying it.

Picholine’s coffee deserves an unqualified thumbs up. The espresso—even the decaf, which I ordered on account of my excitable nerves—is the best in town. The crema on top could have floated an anvil. I didn’t miss the caffeine at all.

Later in the week, I returned for lunch and ordered the Caprese panini sandwich, a grilled sandwich with a slice of tomato, a round of fresh mozzarella and a goodly amount of pesto inside. Potato salad was served alongside at my request. Picholine’s chicken salad sandwich is better still—sprightly with dill and served on lightly toasted European-style bread with tomato and baby greens nestled inside. The lunch crowd was considerably bigger, and our server was very attentive, nearly to the point of fawning.

With sandwiches and entrées both hovering in the $7.50 range, diners will find Picholine’s prices more attractive than those at the lion’s share of downtown restaurants. The food is good, and breakfast is served all day, a powerful attractant for the wan, hung-over diners among us.

Still, questions remain about Picholine, deriving mainly from its lack of nighttime business: Does it need to stake out more of a restaurant identity? If lunchtime foot traffic and coffee sales are what pay the bills, is dinner even necessary?

In time, we may have answers. For now, there’s some really good macaroni and cheese to keep us company.