Whenever my name gets mentioned in the press, the name of my younger brother immediately follows. Needless to say, the converse is not true. I imagine it is an attempt to establish my worth early on, an effort to demand the respect of the reader. The theory apparently at work here is, of course, ludicrous. My brother’s fame has no more baring on my opinions than, say, the fact that he frequently solicits a trio of prostitutes from Night Flight for an evening of debauchery.

I mention it, though, because Stephan Le Preveau — the chef at Restavracia — must endure the same humiliating treatment at the hands of the media. His older brother is, after all, the chef executive at Le Duc, which ranks among the finest eating establishments in Moscow. (And is, by coincidence, my brother’s favorite restaurant. Not that he would ever invite me. Not that I would have any interest in dining on blood money. But I digress.)

My point is that it is irrelevant whether or not Stephan has a famous brother. I am far more interested in what Stephan himself is capable of than in comparing him to some restaurant where I have never eaten at on principle.

I feel a certain kinship towards Stephan. I can tell simply by looking at the menu that he, like me, is a radical. Do not forget that it was I — not Tolic — who was kicked out of the Party in 1989. I stood up for my principles, for Human Rights!

Stephan’s experimentation is visible throughout the menu. At points it works marvelously, fusing disparate flavors seamlessly. Other times it reminds one more of Russia’s Privatization — perhaps a grand idea, but in reality nothing but a sham orchestrated by my sibling.

An example of the former would be the rainbow trout (R485). The entire fish is grilled and served under a sauce based, of all things, in white grapes. The sweet twist enlivens the trout, which often is a rather bland white fish. That combined with unconventionally beaded cucumbers made the meal delightful.

The latter is most evident in the Restavracia salad (R295). This misconceived dish combines an unexceptional crab salad with ginger, greens and red grapefruit. While it is an attractive composition, the elements don’t work together and leave one feeling as though you’ve been duped.

The other salads I tried — the Nordic (R230) and the Payisan (R185) — also failed to excite. The Payisan came with marinated tomatoes that my babushka can best. Tomatoes, I might add, that she grows to survive, no thanks to her inconsiderate tightfisted lout of a grandson. A grandson who is one of the wealthiest men in Russia.

The Dubarrie soup (R150) was an excellent traditional crËme of cauliflower. But the highlight of the meal was the so-called ‘The Little Prince’s Wish’ (R495). I do not doubt these lamb ribs, basked in a rosemary sauce and grilled to perfection, could compete with anything Le Duc has to offer. They were served with a side of lentils that complimented the lamb’s rich flavor.

For dessert, the profiteroles (R240) are well worth the twenty-minute preparation time. The citrus delight (R230) is a hit with the ladies, although I would suspect that Americans would liken the gelled grapefruit and orange dish to Jell-O.

The service, unfortunately, leaves much to be desired. Most memorably, our waiter shattered a full glass of beer (R85) on our (first) table. Furthermore, it was slow; the dishes did not all come at the same time; and the waiter only rushed to take away our food before we had finished. Details such as the lack of fresh ground pepper also did not enamor me to the server.

Lastly, I should mention the whiskey collection, which must be the largest in Moscow. Ninety varieties (although my first choice was out of stock) make even selecting a treat. The prices range from R100 to the sky.

Stephan, while a little green at points, definitely has potential. But in order to achieve it, he should be treated as an individual, and not an appendage to some conniving egomaniac that passes himself of God’s gift to modern Russia, some Peter I incarnate who feels entitled to smash whatever ‘peons’ that dare resist him. No, that would never due.