Fiorini

   

Among families in the restaurant business, it is hard to find a starker contrast than the Arpaias: the under-publicized Lello; and his glamorous, photogenic daughter Donatella, who is often in the news, a fixture on the Food Network, and is seldom out of mind at her restaurants—because most of them are named after her.

But we never would’ve heard of Donatella, had it not been for her father, who has quietly put together a four-decade career at a series of upscale, old-school, classic Italian restaurants. He has closed a few, but they’ve all had multi-year runs, mostly successful, and without an outright failure. His current flagship is Fiorini, named for a monetary unit in nineteenth-century Tuscany. (Another Arpaia, Donatella’s older brother Dino, runs nearby Cellini.)

The few professional reviews of Fiorini are overly fixated on price. New York says it’s “Italian…aimed at the expense-account set.” Time Out says it’s “a neighborhood restaurant in a neighborhood with money to burn,” with “steep prices.” Menupages gives it five dollar signs ($$$$$), the same as Per Se. Zagat says “it’s ‘on the short list’ for ‘adult’ locals who don’t mind that checks are ‘a bit steep.’”

Time for a reality check. Antipasti and salads at Fiorini are $9–14, pastas $19–23, entrées mostly $24–30 (only two veal dishes surpass that amount). That’s about the same as you’ll pay at the city’s better known two-star Italian restaurants, such as Peasant, Locanda Verde, or Spigolo (to name a few), and no one has ever referred to those establishments as expense-account places.

And of course, you can easily pay far more than that for Italian cuisine in NYC, including some restaurants that are worth it (like Del Posto or Marea), and many that are not (like Nello or Harry Cipriani).

I would classify Fiorini as a bargain, assuming you’re in the market for what Mr. Arpaia is selling: very good traditional Italian cuisine in a comfortable, elegant, but slightly old-fashioned midtown dining room. This, to be fair, is a product that most of the city’s professional critics do not care for, which is why the prices grab their attention, when at any number of identically priced but more fashionable restaurants, they do not.

Full disclosure: I dined at Fiorini at the publicist’s invitation and did not pay for my meal. The kitchen sent out a nine-course “tasting menu”—a format the restaurant does not normally offer—consisting mostly of smaller-sized portions of dishes from their regular menu.

 

1. Polpo Ai Ferri (above left; grilled Mediterranean octopus, tomato, caper berries, olives, arugula, red onions). This was one of the better octopus dishes I’ve had in a while.

2. Burrata (above right; creamy imported mozzarella, roasted peppers, asparagus, prosciutto di Parma). This was some of the softest, sweetest burrata around, and I liked the textural contrast with the prosciutto.

 

3. Bucatini alla Matriciana (above left; San Marzano tomato sauce, imported pancetta, onions, Pecorino Romano).

4. Risotto ai Frutti di Mare (above right; Super fino arborio rice, jumbo lump crabmeat, diver scallops, ocean shrimp, calamari, seafood broth).

The reduced portion size didn’t quite do the two pasta/rice dishes justice; in particular, I couldn’t really make out all of the ingredients in the risotto, though the bucatini were pretty good.

 

5. Pesce Spada Livornese (above left; grilled swordfish, imported olives, onions, capers, and tomato sauce). The swordfish had a terrific smoky flavor, but in the smaller portion size was a bit too dry.

6. Cappesante (above right; pan-seared diver scallops, caper berries, lemon, white wine, fresh parsley). This was the best of the savory courses, aided by the plump, juicy scallop, with wonderful contrast from the caper berries and a candied apricot on the side.

7. Petto D’Anatra (below left; pan-seared duck breast with Bartlett poached pears in a dry vermouth sauce). This was a beautiful, rich portion of duck, though the sauce was not as memorable as the one given the scallop.

 

8. Zucotto (above right; three chocolate and passion-fruit mousse cake).

9. Baba (below left; sponge cake, hint of rum, Marsala wine, Mascarpone cheese custard).

10. Plate of Biscotti (below right).

The desserts were exemplary (and were served in full-size portions). I especially liked the Zucotto. I haven’t many examples for comparison, but I finished all of it despite not being a chocolate lover. The Baba was just fine, but it’s hard to avoid comparisons with Alain Ducasse at the Essex House, where they brought around a cart with a dozen aged rums to choose from. It’s no fault of Mr. Arpaia that Fiorini can’t duplicate this. Here, they supply the rum on the side, and you decide how much to add: I poured in the whole glass, unapologetically.

 

As I have noted in past reviews, old-school upscale Italian is the most over-represented cuisine in the city. Even if this were not an invited review (with all of the freighted conflicts it brings), it would be difficult to articulate precisely how this restaurant sets itself apart from others of comparable quality. I’d need to spend a month eating Italian every night, before I could tell you that, so I’ll leave you with the following:

A meal here may give the impression of a trip in the wayback machine, given the trends in contemporary dining. But for old-fashioned Italian elegance there are few better than Lello Arpaia.

Fiorini (209 East 56th Street between Second & Third Avenues, East Midtown)

Geisha Table

Geisha Table, a new jewel-box izakaya on the Upper West Side, bears out the maxim that good things come in small packages.

You wouldn’t expect that from the proprietors, the Serafina Restaurant Group, who run a chain of forgettable Italian restaurants (ten outlets in New York and four other cities) and a mediocre French one, Brasserie Cognac.

Nor would you expect it if you’d visited the original Geisha on the Upper East Side, which opened in late 2003, and to which Amanda Hesser of The Times awarded one star. It was a big-box place, too crowded for its own good. Not even a former Le Bernardin sous-chef, with the Ripper himself consulting, could make it memorable. (I visited once, pre-blog.) The original Geisha is closed for now, while it readies “sleek new digs next door.”

Meanwhile, they’ve opened this adorable little izakaya, not at all in the mold of its predecessor (except that it’s still mainly Japanese). It has just 23 seats, all of them at the bar, a counter in back, or a communal table. It won’t attract the glam clientele that was the main appeal of Geisha on the East Side. The food actually matters here.

The menu features sushi, sashimi, rolls, yakitori, tempura, oysters, a few prepared entrées, and a generous listing of blackboard specials that changes frequently. Most individual items are under $15, and many are under $10; a chef’s sushi/sashimi selection is $25 or $45. It is probably better to just let the chef choose (as we did); nothing here is particularly expensive.

Disclosure: the staff recognized me, and our food bill, about $60 for two before tax and tip, was perhaps half of what one would ordinarily pay. For the alcohol we paid full freight.

 

Sweet corn tempura (above left) was as light as popcorn. This appeared to be a standard amuse bouche that went to every table. A black truffle tuna “sandwich” (above right) must have been a chef’s special—I can find no such item on the standard menu. It was one of the cleverest dishes I have had in a long while.

The chef’s choice sashimi platter had over a dozen items on it, all in pairs. We were charged just $45 for this, and I’m sure it is normally at least double that. Japanese trout (the pink fish in back), deep fried shrimp heads (on the right), and uni (in front) were the most memorable items for me, but it was all very good: one of the most varied and entertaining sashimi omakases I have had in quite a while, and certainly the best at this price.

 

We then switched to yakitori, including octopus (above left), chicken thigh (above right), and braised short rib (below left).

 

The chef finished with a deep-fried ball of pork belly (above right), which was insane.

Geisha Table is a single room, carved out of a larger space (formerly The West Branch) that is a 140 seat branch of Serafina. You can enter through the main restaurant on Broadway, or through a less conspicuous separate entrance around the corner, on W. 77th. Despite the shared management, they seem to have little in common. Reservations aren’t taken, but on entering a hostess offers immediately to check your coat, a trick the hostess in Serafina couldn’t manage.

The only drawback here is the seating: inflexible wooden stools, about eight inches in diameter. I felt a loss of circulation in my derrière about fifteen minutes into the meal. For an overweight person, it would be torture. But otherwise, Geisha Table offers a welcome escape from the city streets. It isn’t quite authentic, but in many ways it comes close. The service was wonderful, but I was recognized: you would like to think it’s the same for everyone, but I cannot say.

The executive chef here (Richard Lee) has the same title at Geisha on the East Side. It remains to be seen how he’ll cope with the dual assignment when the sister restaurant re-opens. But Geisha Table’s lilliputian proportions are a hedge against reversion to the mean. When you’re that small, it’s a lot harder to lapse into serving a mediocre product.

In some Tokyo neighborhoods, there’s an izakaya on every street corner, or at least it seems that way. In Manhattan they’re far less common, and I don’t remember finding one as good as this.

Geisha Table (2178 Broadway at 77th Street, Upper West Side)

Food: **
Service: **
Ambiance: *
Overall: **

Dovetail (remodeled)

News that Dovetail had remodeled yet again brought me back last week, where I hadn’t been since a disastrous “Sunday Suppa” in 2008.

I’ve been a fan of chef John Fraser since he was at Compass. His short-lived pop-up, “What Happens When,” served one of the best meals I had in 2011. But neither of my Dovetail visits quite lived up to the three New York Times stars or the Michelin star it currently holds.

The space was remodeled in 2009 (photos here, here), gaining a new 16-seat bar area, twenty new seats in the dining room, and an expanded wine cellar. But it still resembled the original décor (left), with exposed brick and no tablecloths.

Last month, Dovetail closed again for a week. This time, they’ve gone all-in for elegance: there are crisp white tablecloths, and no more brick. It finally looks like a three-star restaurant.

That makes Dovetail more endearing, though it would no doubt have been a demerit when Frank Bruni and Adam Platt reviewed it four years ago. Its reputation assured, Dovetail no longer hedges its bets.

The current menu is in four sections: appetizers ($20–34), vegetables ($17–34), entrées ($37–48), and desserts ($10–16), with about half-a-dozen choices per category. Yes, that’s expensive if ordered à la carte. There’s a four-course $85 prix fixe, but you can order just two courses (as we do in most restaurants, and did here), and contain the damage.

I can certainly do without such pompous moralizing, as: “The chef recommends that you order four courses.” Yeah, duh. Of course he does. If you offer a carte, don’t act disappointed when diners use it.

 

Dovetail has always served a trio of amuses bouches (above), and although I failed to take note of them, they were excellent—as they’ve always been.

 

From the vegetable section came a compelling starter: cured carrots, chicken feed (sic), and a soft-boiled egg ($18; above left). I wouldn’t serve it to a hungry football team, but it is larger than it appears in the photo.

Braised lamb ravioli with saffron, olives, and peppers ($24; above right) were also quite good, if a shade less novel.

 

Swordfish ($37; above left) with clam chowder, chorizo, and thyme, was the evening’s most impressive production, as beautifully cooked as it was to look at. (Fraser does have a high quotient of ingredients to the square inch.)

But it seems there is always one dud at Dovetail, and this time it was Sweetbreads ($46; above right) with heirloom potatoes, bacon, and truffles. It takes chutzpah to charge $46 for sweetbreads. They really have to be good. These were just average, and and the truffles didn’t add much flavor.

The dining room was not very busy, but we dined relatively early on a Saturday evening, and then left for a show. Our upselling server did a fine job, once he was past trying to sell us into four courses. 

The 24-page wine list has magnums of 1959 Château Latour at $11,000; yet, they’ll happily sell you a recent Beaujolais Nouveau at $30. The sommelier showed not a hint of dismay that I ordered it. The server could learn from her. That Beaujolais isn’t an anomaly, either. Whatever your price range, you can do business here.

In 2008, appetizers at Dovetail were $11–18, entrées $24–34. You could order at the bottom or the middle of that range, and walk out with an excellent mid-priced dinner. At its current, much higher prices, Dovetail can no longer claim to be an over-achieving neighborhood place. Fraser wants a second Michelin star.

At its best, Dovetail lives up to its billing. Fraser is a talented chef: the effort and craftsmanship in his best work elevate this restaurant over most of its peers. But at these prices, the duds (even if rare) are harder to excuse.

Dovetail (103 W. 77th Street at Columbus Avenue, Upper West Side)

Food: **½
Service: **½
Ambiance: ***
Overall: **½

Minetta Tavern

I’ve written about Minetta Tavern before (here, here), and as far as background goes, I have little to add. I keep wondering if quality will suffer, given that it is perpetually packed and could probably float on reputation for years to come.

In four visits, I’ve only sat at the bar. Walk-in tables are never available at the hours I’ve gone, nor is it reservable at the times I want to eat. But the bar is really just an extension of the dining room: most people seated there order food.

The food remains excellent. If they’re capable of serving a bad dish, I haven’t seen it yet. The main menu is fairly static—except for the prices, which keep going up—but there is a printed specials menu that changes reasonably often. On a Monday evening a couple of weeks ago, everything we ordered was from that menu.

At $18, a Brussels Sprouts salad (above left) was no bargain, but despite the humble-looking photo, it’s studded with bacon and egg, a dream of a dish.

 

Sea Bass ($36; above left) seems to be the default fish that every restaurant must offer (having apparently replaced salmon and swordfish). This version of it was just about perfect.

But the dish I’ll remember for a long time was the Calves Liver ($34; above right), so thick and hearty it could be a steak, with a charred skin as if it were a steak. This was the best liver dish I can recall, anywhere.

The formula here remains what it was: deceptively simple things that they knock out of the ballpark. Our food bill was $88 for two entrées and a shared salad. Most of the entrées are above $30, but you can eat for less. The Minetta Burger is still just $17 and worth every penny; the Tavern Steak, at $26, although it is not the best steak they serve, still puts many other places’ steaks to shame.

Wine will plump up the bill, no matter what you do. It’s a good diverse list, but with very little below $60 a bottle.

There are a lot of Minetta dishes still on my bucket list — I’m still looking for an occasion to try the côte de boeuf for two (now $134), and the roasted bone marrow looks incredible. That’s for another day.

Minetta Tavern (113 MacDougal Street between Bleecker & W. 3rd Streets, Greenwich Village)

Food: ***
Service: **
Ambiance: *½
Overall: **½

Goat Town

Note: Goat Town closed in July 2014. After remodeling, it re-opened in September with a new menu and a new name, GG’s.

*

When Pete Wells, restaurant critic of The New York Times, wasted a review slot last week on Shake Shack — an over-exposed chain that is not a restaurant, has been reviewed before, is not very good, and would remain perpetually packed no matter what he said — it raised an obvious question: what is not getting reviewed?

Submitted for your approval: Goat Town.

I don’t want to overstate the case for Goat Town. It’s an earnest, casual American bistro in the familiar farm-to-table mold, somewhat resembling the Brooklyn restaurant that its chef and owner came from, The General Greene. Almost every neighborhood has one now; across the river, they’re on every block.

But it plays the game well, is not entirely derivative, hasn’t been much reviewed (except for Sietsema in the Voice), and it offers at least one good dish you don’t find everywhere. In other words, it beats Shake Shack on every count, and by a wide margin.

The menu fits on a single sheet of paper. It’s inexpensive by today’s standards, with appetizers $5–14, entrées $17–26, side dishes $5–7, and desserts $5–9. From the beginning (late 2010), there has always been a goat dish on the menu, though there’s a double ententre in the name Goat Town: it’s the original meaning of the word Gotham, a long-forgotten insult coined by the writer Washington Irving.

 

If you want Bread & Butter (above left), you have to order it and pay an extra $2. I get the idea: it doesn’t break the bank, and that way they don’t send out unwanted bread that will go to waste. But for two bucks I thought they could have made a more bountiful presentation.

My son and I both ordered the Smoked Goat ($23; above right), served here with braised white beans and a parsley salad. I failed to re-orient the plate, so the photo shows mostly greens and beans. I can assure you the goat is there: two generously portioned loin chops, resembling lamb, but with a more pungent taste.

I always assumed that goat is frequently used in stews because it would be too chewy, but this goat was just fine, making a strong case that this meat doesn’t always need to be served in cubes with heavy curry sauce.

 

A side of Brussels Sprouts ($7; above left) was a bit sad looking, but the kitchen did very well by Roasted Carrots ($6; above right).

And a shared Coffee Caramel Sundae ($9; left), with coffee ice cream, a chocolate brownie, pecans, ice cream, and caramel sauce, was excellent.

The restaurant has a beer and wine license, but they make some worthwhile cocktails despite that limitation. The Abbott ($9), with white wine, Cocchi Americano, bitters, and lime, was ample and refreshing.

Goat Town takes reservations. We were able to walk in at around 7:30 p.m. on a Saturday evening, though that is early for the East Village. An hour or so later, we would have had to wait.

The décor is attractive for purpose, with a long bar along the left-hand side of a narrow space, leading to an open kitchen in back. Tables are made of reclaimed wood, with booths made of subway tile. Despite appearances, it didn’t get unbearably noisy. Service was fine.

Goat Town isn’t a destination, but it’s a good realization of its genre and well worth a visit if you’re nearby.

Goat Town (511 E. 5th Street, east of Avenue A, East Village)

Food: ★
Service: ★
Ambiance: ★

Overall: ★

Il Buco Alimentari & Vineria

 

Il Buco Alimentari & Vineria (“IBA”) doesn’t deserve the three stars Pete Wells of The New York Times gave it a fortnight ago, but you already knew that. It just might be the single craziest Times review of the last decade—and there have been some howlers, believe me.

What’s sad is not that IBA is overrated. What’s sad is that a good, earnest “neighborhood-plus” restaurant is now getting hammered with crowds it cannot handle, who arrive with expectations it cannot possibly meet.

Of course, it is also sad that the Paper of Record thinks believes IBA is in any respect comparable to Babbo or Marea, Italian restaurants with three deserved stars; or that it is in any respect superior to Lincoln, which has just two; or Osteria Morini, which has one.

This is not to take anything away from what owner Donna Lennard has done, which is to create a cute Italian market (an alimentari) with a pretty good sandwich shop by day (when they don’t run out of stuff—which seems to happen a lot), and an endearing (if crazily crowded) Trattoria by night.

The market came first: they sell cheeses, salumi, olive oil, chocolates, and the like. Then came the restaurant. It was clearly part of the plan all along: there is a bright, open kitchen in the back, and there are two bars. But stools and tables (several of them communal), surely as many as the law allows, have now been crammed into almost every nook and cranny. Plan on getting to know your neighbor really, really well.

It’s a three-meal-a-day operation, and the market remains open all the while. Kim Davis of The Times says serve the best porchetta sandwich in town. But presumably it’s mainly the dinner menu that got them three stars. (Click on the photo, above left, for a larger image.)

It’s heavy on appetizers (an even dozen of them, $12–18), pastas (a half-dozen, $17–21) and salumi (various prices; assortment for $32). There are just four secondi ($29–38)—and one of those, the spit-roasted short ribs ($38), is actually an order for two, though the menu fails to so state.

The bread service (above right) is pretty good, but not quite deserving of critic Wells’s near-orgasmic description. It’s made in in-house and a tad fresher than you’ll get most places, but hardly anything to change your life. I was actually a bit more addicted to the bread sticks. [Addendum: After I wrote this, the head baker asked me to come in for a bread tasting, where I had quite a bit more than the simple ciabatta shown here.]

 

House-cured salt cod fritters ($12; above left) are a decent snack; certainly a few steps better than Mrs. Paul’s.

I had set my hopes on the aforementioned short ribs (above right), not realizing that it was a dish for two. Plenty of restaurants would charge the same ($38) for a solo portion, so after being properly warned by the server, I went ahead and ordered it anyway. It’s the whole short rib, tender and luscious, with a garnish of olives, celery, walnuts, and horseradish, and—so says The Times—peppercorns and coriander seeds. It is awfully salty. That, more than the size of the portion, is why I stopped eating it halfway through.

 

On a second visit, I tried the Fried Rabbit ($15; above left). A leg, thigh, and “wing” are coated in an appealing bread crust with black pepper, honey, and lemon. Paccheri ($21; above right), with braised oxtail, greens, and parmigiano, was far less impressive. The pasta was too chewy and not warm enough.

IBA’s sister restaurant, just-plain Il Buco, to which I haven’t been, opened nearby in 1994. It received one star from Ruth Reichl—which in those days was a compliment. The food boards say that the dishes in common are a bit better at IBA, but the original looks like a more charming space: it doesn’t double as a grocery, and they haven’t shoehorned in quite so many tables per square foot.

The service is better than you’d expect: they take reservations (good luck getting one right now), check coats, and seat incomplete parties. I walked in on a Wednesday evening at around 5:45 p.m., fifteen minutes before dinner service, and was seated at the bar as soon as the dining room opened. The following Monday at 6:00 on the dot was also just fine. Both times, less than an hour later, it was packed. It is all they can do to keep up, but I hesitate to blame them: I doubt even they thought they were building a three-star restaurant.

Pete Wells said that IBA reminded him of a mythical Italian village. To me, it felt like an obvious product of Manhattan, not that that’s surprising: most Manhattan restaurants do; funny how that works. A diner asked to order appetizers, and he’d see about primi or secondi later on. “I’m sorry,” the server replied, “but Chef prefers to receive your entire order at once.” Try and find an Italian restaurant in Umbria where they’d say that.

The wine list, which fits on one sheet of paper, is limited to about eight producers (not all of them Italian), with half-a-dozen wines from each of them. Prices by the glass are reasonable (disclosure: one was comped), but the bartenders don’t offer you a taste before pouring.

With its extensive in-house baking and curing program, IBA clearly has more going for it than your average neighborhood Italian place. For now, it is a destination restaurant, and as the owners have been around for nearly two decades, you can figure they’re here to stay. But just like Eataly, a space that is trying to be both a grocery and a restaurant is not ideal at either one.

Il Buco Alimentari e Vineria (53 Great Jones Street west of Bowery, NoHo)

Food: Enjoyable but uneven and over-priced modern Italian cuisine
Service: Hectic
Ambiance: A market and a restaurant combined, to the detriment of both

Rating: ★
Why? Compelling at times, but too flawed and uneven to be a critic’s pick

Lowcountry

Note: Lowcountry closed. The space is now called Louro, under the same ownership, with chef David Santos.

*

Whenever there’s a chef change at a restaurant I’ve reviewed, I always make a note of it. I might not get around to a re-review, but at least it remains in the back of my mind.

I did make it back to Lowcountry, which has a new chef, Oliver Gift, as of January 2012. Much of the background of the restaurant remains the same, so I refer you to my October 2010 review for details.

The cuisine is still Southern U.S., but with more traditional menu headings: appetizers and mains, rather than the irritating “small” plates and “large.” Prices have crept up: whereas entrées were formerly $19–23, they’re now $19–30, with an average around $25. Some former apps are now served as larger and more expensive mains, but Lowcountry remains a low-to-mid-priced restaurant by today’s standards.

We thought the Lowcountry Sampler ($16; above) would be a good way to sample the appetizers. You get two bacon deviled eggs, two mini crab cakes, a bit of Benton’s country ham, and a scoop of leek dip with house-made chips. It is all unobjectionable, but equally unimpressive.

 

Last time, Shrimp & Grits with Andouille Sausage (above left) was a $14 appetizer; it’s now a $20 entrée. But what it seems to have gained is a bowl full of soupy grits that overwhelmed the shrimp and sausage.

Arctic Char ($24; above right) was considerably better, despite an overly precious plating that is really out of place for the restaurant. Char is a delicate fish, and the kitchen has mastered it, served on a bed of red quinoa.

In keeping with the Southern theme, there is an extensive bourbon list. We had a couple of bourbon-based cocktails that were strictly of the backyard barbecue variety, the sorts of unstudious drinks you wouldn’t mind if a buddy served them on the back porch.

The restaurant was not doing much business on a Sunday evening; I have no idea if that is typical. Service was fine, as you’d expect under those circumstances. The new chef has worked at some impressive places (Commerce, Blue Hill at Stone Barns), so I thought he might have plans to elevate the cuisine. He may yet, but so far that is not the case.

Lowcountry (142 W. 10th Street between 6th & 7th Avenues, West Village)

Food: *
Service: *
Ambiance: *
Overall: *

Empellón Cocina

Empellón Taqueria had a rocky start when it opened a year ago. The Mexican taco joint from Alex Stupak, the former WD~50 pastry chef, got mixed reviews. I found the food underwhelming and the dining room far too loud.

The chef later added sound-proofing, adjusted prices, and broadened the menu beyond tacos. I haven’t been back, but reports I trust suggest that the place is far more enjoyable now than I found it.

Meantime, Stupak has opened a companion restaurant across town, Empellón Cocina, which will offer a more serious, less taco-centric take on Mexican cuisine. The new dining room, while stylistically similar, is just slightly more upscale than the taqueria. There are some odd stylistic choices amidst the minimalist décor: why a crucifix in one corner and a devil statue in the other?

This time, the sound-proofing was installed from the get-go, with fabric walls taking the place of brick in the original joint. Our reservation was early, but the place was full by the time we left, so this was a good test: the sound-proofing works! It’s not a tomb, but you can carry on a conversation.

I’m usually a bit skeptical of Valentine’s Day tasting menus, which often mass-produce a restaurant’s least-interesting food at a hefty premium over the usual price. But at Empellón Cocina, in its first full week of service, I figured I’d get a pretty good sample of the food Stupak will be serving à la carte, and the price was reasonable: $90 for nine courses.

I am running a bit short on time, so I have reproduced the description of the dishes from the hand-out menu, along with my light comments.

The first three dishes were excellent, with strong flavors and a great balance of flavors:

1. Peeky Toe Crab (above left) with Parsnip Juice, Crab Flan and Smoked Cashew Salsa

2. Dry Aged NY Strip Steak (above right) with Crema Parfait, Black Beans and Salsa Roja

3. Melted Tetilla Cheese (above left) with Lobster, Tomate Frito and Kol (Yucatan-style white sauce)

4. Tortilla Soup (above right)

The Melted Cheese with Lobster could become Stupak’s signature dish: it’s excellent. But the tortilla soup was somewhat forgettable.

5. Scallop (above left) with Gachas de Arroz, Plantains and Chilpachole (shellfish broth, epazote, chipotle).

6. Pork Ribs with White Beans Masa Balls, and Green Mole (tomatillo, serrano chile, herbs).

“Did the first chef go home?” That’s what we wanted to know, as the meal fell off a cliff. The poor, delicate scallop was drowned in an unpleasant pool of tomatoey broth; the ribs, served off the bone, were too dry, and served with a humdrum mole.

Stupak is a pastry chef by trade, so you would expect the desserts to be strong—and they were:

7. Rose Meringe (above left) with Cherry Sorbet and Hibscus Yogurt

8. Bonus course (above center); I believe Arroz con Leche, the best of the three

9. Chocolate Cake (above right) with Pineapple and Vanilla Cream

I didn’t take note of the wine that we ordered, but cocktails before dinner were mediocre. My girlfriend asked for something similar to a Cosmopolitan (they couldn’t make one exactly, as they lacked cranberry juice), and got its diametric opposite. Another that I ordered off the menu tasted mostly of tonic water. But the bar staff seemed new and will undoubtedly improve; to their credit, they took the non-Cosmo off the bill.

Servers were well versed on the menu, and the food came out at a reasonable pace—neither too fast nor too slow. Of course, the kitchen’s task is easier when they know every diner will have exactly the same things, in exactly the same order. That’s one of the reasons why restaurants limit your choices on Valentine’s Day.

If Stupak’s track record at Empellón Taqueria is any guide, Empellón Cocina will get better over time. On a Valentine’s Day tasting menu, one week in, he batted .500 on the savory courses and 1.000 on the desserts. That is a pretty good start.

Empellón Cocina (105 First Avenue between E. 6th & E. 7th Streets, East Village)

Food: *½
Service: *½
Ambiance: *½
Overall: *½

Alison Eighteen

Note: The opening chef, Robert Gurvich, severed his ties with the restaurant in July 2012. The restaurant closed in December 2013 after a short and undistinguished run. A new restaurant by Jesse Schenker of Recette is expected to move into the place.

*

“Just fine” is a label I often use when I’m served capably executed food which neither excites me nor fails in any articulable way.

Alison Eighteen is “just fine.”

The décor is modern and stylish. Service is attentive and professional. The wine list offers better breadth and depth than you usually see at a new restaurant, with plenty of reasonable choices below $60. Food prices are slightly on the medium-to-high side, but certainly not extortionate for the neighborhood.

The owner, Alison Price Becker, is a former actress who rose through the ranks at Rakel and Gotham Bar & Grill, then opened her own place, the much loved Alison on Dominick Street. Bryan Miller of The Times awarded two stars in 1989 and again in 1992, both under founding chef Tom Valenti, who is now at Ouest. Scott Bryan replaced him, also receiving two stars from Ruth Reichl. Dan Silverman (later of Union Square Cafe, Lever House, and now the Standard Grill) replaced Bryan. James Beard Award winner Michelle Bernstein cooked here at one point. Those are some impressive names.

The lesser known Robert Gurvich replaced Silverman in 1999. By now Alison was a franchise, with a place in Sagaponack (Alison by the Beach; 1998–2004). Alison on Dominick closed in 2011 after the 9/11 attacks, as diners stopped coming downtown, and for a while the site (located hard by the Holland Tunnel exit) could not even receive truck deliveries. She opened another restaurant (just plain “Alison”) in Bridgehampton in 2006, again with Gurvich, who is likewise chef at Alison Eighteen.

Ruth Reichl called Alison on Dominick “one of the city’s most romantic restaurants.” No one would say that about the new one. It is, as FloFab put it, “lighter and airier,” with a more overtly commercial intent. Still, there is a cool elegance and obvious care in the design: Ms. Becker even created her own wallpaper.

I suspect she’ll attract fans of the old Alison on Dominick, plus those who’ve gone with her to Sagaponack or Bridgehampton, and Elaine’s refugees. The restaurant is open for three meals a day and should do a brisk breakfast and lunch trade in this neighborhood.

The old Times reviews suggest that the cuisine here was never cutting-edge, but it was always executed with care and skill, and it remains so today. Even in 1992, Bryan Miller would write: “If there is a minor shortcoming here, especially for repeat customers, it is a moderate-size menu that usually lacks more than one special supplement.”

Twenty years later, with American locavore restaurants found on every half-block, the menu at Alison Eighteen may seem a bit old-fashioned: serving spit-roasted chicken without saying which farm the chicken came from? Shocking!

The menu fits on one broadsheet, with nine appetizers (mostly $12–19, but Foie Gras “A La Plancha” is $28), eight entrées (mostly $26–34, excluding a 35-day aged sirloin, $45), and half-a-dozen sides ($9).

That old standby, the Raw Yellow Beet Salad ($15; above left) shares the plate with slices of escarole and honeycrisp apple (neither very flavorful), with watermelon radishes and cider vinaigrette. It was a dish that read better than it tasted.

Sardine Crostini ($16; above right) were an annouced special, with a list of about ten ingredients that I won’t even attempt to recall. This was a considerably more exciting dish, the kind Alison Eighteen needs more of.

Both entrées were competently executed, if unexciting: Black Bass ($32) with artichokes, cannelini beans, cockles and a bit of chorizo; Spit-Roasted Lamb Shoulder ($32) with roasted vegetables. The server tried to upsell us into a side dish, which neither of these mains required.

The bread service (baguettes and olive oil) could be better, but petits fours (below right) were a nice touch, and I especially appreciated the (mostly French) wine list. We had the 2006 Pascal Granger Juliénas, a Beaujolais I suspect you won’t find in many other NYC restaurants.

Many of the city’s pro critics thumb their noses at restaurants that exist mainly for social reasons, and thereby miss their real merits. There is a need for places that serve reliable menus in stylish surroundings, with upscale service. I won’t run back to Alison Eighteen, but for the intended audience it fulfills its mission well.

Alison Eighteen (15 W. 18th St. between 5th & 6th Ave., Flatiron District)

Food: ★
Service: ★★
Ambiance: ★★
Overall: ★½

King

Note: Francis Derby left King after just three months on the job, after a clash with the owners about the scope and ambition of the cuisine. As of March 2012, a sous-chef had replaced him. The restaurant closed in June. As of April 2013, the space is Charlie Bird.

*

Francis Derby’s name comes up a lot in NYC culinary circles. In the last eleven years, the chef has worked at Atlas, WD~50, Gilt, Tailor, Solex, Momofuku Ssäm Bar, and Shorty’s.32. I am not sure if that’s a complete list.

None of those were his own place. He has that now at King, which opened last month a converted railroad apartment on a quiet Soho street corner. Let’s hope this gig lasts longer than the others did. King is a restaurant I want to root for.

While I wouldn’t call King elegant, it has many of the amenities lacking in about 95 percent of new restaurants these days: tablecloths, a comfortable bar, reservations accepted, coats checked, a civilized dining room. It’s a superb, quiet date spot. I liked the décor, but to some diners it may seem old-fashioned. Some of it, I think, came from rummage sales, although Ken Friedman built a whole empire that way.

I’m realist enough to know that King is swimming against the tide. There’s a reason not many people are opening that kind of restaurant today. They have trouble finding enough guests like me, who value what King is trying to do.

There are some early fumbles (about a month in), as they try to figure out what works. A tripe gratin or tripe stroganoff, mentioned with derision in some of the early reviews, is no longer on the menu. Likewise a Pigs Head Tortellini and a Salt Crust Chicken for two. As the more intriguing dishes disappear, we’re left with a menu that on its face won’t wow anyone. Once the food arrives, you’ll find that the chef’s technique is top-notch, but first they have to get you in the door.

It is only January, but it’s not too soon to credit King with the dumbest restaurant gimmick of the year:

Push the ‘champagne button’ at your seat, and a server appears with flutes, an ice bucket, and a 375ml bottle of Vueve Clicquot.

There’s nothing at the table to indicate what the button does: we assumed it was just a light switch, until we noticed that every table had one, and then I remembered the stories I’d read. Without an explanation, no one will know what the buttons do. And if they have to explain it, perhaps the old-fashioned way is better: let servers look after their tables. Some problems just don’t need a technology solution.

In the one case I’m aware of where someone actually pushed the button (a Mouthfuls review), they waited 20 minutes, and all that happened was a waiter came over and asked if the party needed anything. But perhaps that’s better than the alternative, an expensive bottle of bubbly that the table probably didn’t want anyway.

Chef Derby has some pretty impressive restaurants on his C.V., but he is certainly not trying to out-do his mentors. He serves a straightforrward seasonal American menu, with no entrée above $29. But I really liked everything I tried over the course of two visits, especially at this price point.

A Chicken & Rabbit Pâté ($14; above left) was excellent. This could go on the menu at Bar Boulud (the city’s best charcuterie place) tomorrow. It seems every new restaurant this year has multiple poached egg dishes. King has a terrific one: Smoked Octopus ($16; above right) with frisée and radish.

Bouchot Mussels ($18; above left) steamed in beer were just fine. Pork Belly ($26; above right) is sometimes too cloying to be an entrée, but it worked here because the skin was nicely crisped, giving it the needed textural contrast.

On my second visit, I tried the Sweetbreads ($16; above left) in an appealing celery root and green olive dip and a great Brussels Sprouts and Lamb Bacon side dish ($8; above right). The plate of pastries at the end (below left) is a nice touch.

The wine list is fairly minimal—around a dozen bottles. I can’t complain about a 2004 Saint-Émilion for $58 (above right), but there aren’t a lot of choices like that. King needs more, and better glassware to serve it in.

There are some pretty good house cocktails, like the His Majesty (Ransom Gin, Purity Vodka, Lillet Blanc, Orange Bitters) or the Rejouissance (Prosecco, St. Germain, Lemon-infused Vodka, Bittered Sugar). Service behind the bar is better and more polished than at the tables, where servers, though friendly and well-meaning, still seem to be feeling their way.

The dining room was not very busy on either of my visits, but both were on weeknights and relatively early. A server said that the weekend business has been brisk. To succeed, King needs to thread a needle. It wasn’t built on a big budget, it’s not expensive, and the cuisine won’t make headlines. It needs to attract people like me, who enjoy such places and wish there were more of them.

King (5 King Street at Sixth Avenue, Soho)

Food: *½
Service: *½
Ambiance: **
Overall: *½