A steel-gray winter Saturday in New York—and the Village appears deserted, all its well-heeled denizens off to St. Barts, or Turks & Caicos.  The Hudson looks threatening.  And for a moment, you might wish that you too were elsewhere—but then you step across the threshold into Perry Street, Jean-George’s latest culinary sanctuary.

Located at the base of the second of the three Richard Meier glass towers which front the Hudson, Perry Street has the serenity and calm more often associated with an executive dining club.  You almost expect to see Bill Paley and his wife Babe nestled quietly at a corner table, perusing the Sunday Times.  The room is a bastion of cool minimalism, very nearly an homage to Philip Johnson’s Glass House.  The music is low; the shades are partially drawn; the lighting is flattering.  Without realizing, you’re speaking in the same hushed tones it seems everyone else is using.

Service is light-footed and attentive—starting with an amuse gueule: a demi-tasse of truffled cauliflower soup.  This is brunch—two courses for $24, followed by dessert—and the menu reflects perfectly the way one wants to eat on a chilly January weekend. The choices are imaginative and well-considered: sesame pancakes, as fluffy as a light omelette, and a luscious Boston lettuce and poached egg salad dressed with a sherry-walnut vinaigrette.  There’s also a sublime king oyster mushroom carpaccio, layered with avocado and drizzled with a jalapeno and lime coulis—and the resultant textures, combined with the bite of the pepper, create a palate sensation. A barley risotto is perfect winter comfort food—rich and indulgent. The coffee is strong and flavorful. And for dessert, there’s a molten chocolate cake—or an angel food served with grapefruit. Angel or devil, your choice. But there’s no question that at Perry Street, you’ve found a bit of heaven in New York.