Making a splash

I'm so glad the owners of Fountain Bistro haven't adopted the latest nomenclature of the architecture world, where a fountain is called a "water feature." Wonder if the designers of water features talk about the changing patterns of water play as the fountain's "skill sets."

No matter. One of the joys of dining at Fountain Bistro in Campus Martius is to watch the jets of H2O spurt up, seem to gather themselves into a bunch, and then abruptly drop like a stone. You can see the fountain from anywhere in the small restaurant, thanks to floor-to-ceiling windows. You might also catch volleyball players or any sort of downtown outdoors-niks enjoying the oasis that is Campus Martius, either from the air-conditioned inside or from the outdoor tables that are even closer to the water.

The bistro reopened in late June after shutting down for a kitchen revamp that now allows the staff to produce dinners as well as soups, salads and sandwiches. Management calls the short menu "French-inspired," but that's a stretch. Mostly it consists of items whose names would be familiar on a menu at Elias Brothers: burgers, shrimp cocktail, roast chicken, Caesar salad, tuna salad — though mussels and oysters can also be found. The difference, of course, is in the execution.

The salmon with sorrel sauce I had at Fountain Bistro on Aug. 2, 2011, was the best salmon I've ever eaten. It wasn't just the sauce, though that was a miracle of sharp plus creaminess (the Internet says sorrel tastes like kiwi or wild strawberries). The salmon itself was browned just right on top and perfectly timed to achieve flawless flakiness and avoid either dryness or underdone squeakiness. It was served with buttery haricots verts (skinny green beans) and cherry tomatoes that had been either grilled or sautéed to their great advantage.

Almost as wonderful was a lake trout amandine, milder but perfectly fried with hazelnut brown butter. (Note to menu writers: The fact that this dish contains almonds does not mean that "l" is the second letter of "amandine.") And though the Bistro's regular "frites" are fine but not memorable, the fingerlings fried in duck fat are of a different order. They're skinny circles (the thinner the potato, the more relative surface exposed to fat; this is the same principle that makes Ruffles better than non-ridged potato chips), and they're cooked with chewy prosciutto. My only complaint about this sublime dish is the boring standard ketchup served alongside — come on, chefs: You'd have fun creating your own!

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