La Mar Cebicheria Peruana

La M.C.P. closed in August 2013 after two years in business. I am not surprised: as discussed in the review below, there were many reasons to be skeptical.

*

On either the website or the printed menu at La Mar Cebicheria Peruana, the first thing you see is the list of cities where the restaurant is franchised: eight of them to date. In all, chef Gastón Acurio has thirty-three restaurants on three continents, most of them duplicates trading under a handful of names, like Astrid and Gastón, Tanta, and La Mar. He makes Jean-Georges Vongerichten look like a small-time operator.

I guess Chef Acurio never got the memo: New Yorkers don’t take kindly to imported franchises and chefs. He would have been far wiser to open under a new name, giving at least the impression that he was creating something unique. It could have been a complete sham, but who would know?

Then, there’s the location, the former home to Tabla. Even Danny Meyer didn’t survive here. It’s a large space on two levels, in a high-rent building. Only a well-capitalized operator who was very sure of both himself and his concept would have considered it. But restaurants need to fit the personality of their neighborhoods, and La Mar (named for the sea) feels like a cruise ship past its prime. Does that work at Madison Square Park? Only time will tell.

Wikipedia proclaims Chef Acurio “a true culinary visionary who has put all his effort into rediscovering Peruvian cuisine.” (Apparently the Wiki Police have not yet gotten around to censoring this clearly biased article.) Besides nearly three dozen restaurants, he hosts a television show in Perú and is author of various cookbooks and magazines. That’s a lot to live up to.

The menu is in six categories, a layout that blurs the line between appetizers and entrées, and seems calculated to provoke over-ordering. The traditional appetizers are $11–18, the main courses $26–42, which makes La Mar a rather expensive restaurant, especially if you accept the tacit invitation to order from each group.

We did the opposite, eschewing the so-called appetizers and entrées entirely. In the meantime, it’s easy to fill up on fried plantain chips (above left) with their appealing hot dipping sauce.

The Cebiches ($15–28), the so-called national dish of Perú, lead off the menu. There’s much more variety here than the Mexican ceviches commonly seen on New York menus. The “Tigre Tasting” ($15; above left) offered three drinkable shot-glasses: fish, shrimp, and octopus, all fairly spicy. But I liked the “Popular” ($18; above right) better, with salmon, shrimp, ocotpus, and crisp calamari in a tart green sauce.

Tiraditos (raw fish) are Perú’s answer to sashimi, though to me Italian crudi seemed like a more apt analogy. Three kinds are offered (all $18), of which we tried two (above left), the Nikei (Toro tuna with chile pepper, tamarind, and sesame oil) and the Chaifa (wild salmon belly and cilantro in passion fruit).

Carapulcra is a Peruvian dish akin to a potato stew. It was offered as a recited special, with pork belly as a decidedly non-traditional extra ingredient. The dish as presented ($26; above right) didn’t resemble a stew at all. Was it meant to be an appetizer or an entrée? After multiple failed attempts to get an explanation, we decided to take our chances. It was pretty good, but it’s difficult to ruin pork belly.

The wine list features an ample selection of Argentinean, Brazilian, and Chilean wines, along with more familiar fare from Spain and California. The price range is in line with the food, with decent options below $50, though they were out of my first choice.

The space has a bright new design from starchitect Stephanie Goto (Corton, Aldea). I don’t think it’s her best work, but maybe this tired look is what the client wanted. The layout is the same as Tabla, with a bar and lounge on the ground floor and the main dining room up a flight of steps. It was about half full on a Saturday evening; still, we had trouble hearing our server’s recitation of the daily specials.

The food was all at least pleasant and inoffensive, but it is nothing I am dying to have again. Add two glasses of sangria at the bar ($13 each), and a bottle of Malbec at the table ($52), and we were well above $100 a head, and that’s without ordering traditional entrées. Absent more excitement on the plate, I am somewhat skeptical that the restaurant can build a long-term following at these prices, and in such a sterile space.

La Mar Cebicheria Peruana (11 Madison Ave. at 25th St., Gramercy/Flatiron District)

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

Kutsher's Tribeca

Note: It should surprise absolutely no one that Kutsher’s Tribeca closed in mid-2014. This is, after all, a Jeffrey Chodorow restaurant. Quick failure is his calling card. A branch of Almond is expected to replace it. The review below was under the opening chef, Mark Spanganthal, who left the restaurant in early 2013.

*

When I heard that Jeffrey Chodorow, the prolific creator of failed restaurants, was opening a “Catskills Jewish” place in Tribeca, I thought: Mr. Gimmick has struck again. The idea seemed patently absurd.

Kutsher’s Tribeca isn’t absurd at all. It’s actually kinda fun, and the food isn’t bad. The Chod’s role is minimized: he’s an investor, leaving the running of the place to Zach Kutsher, a fourth-generation descendant of the family behind the eponymous Kutsher’s Resort and Country Club in Monticello, New York.

Zach Kutscher is an earnest and sincere fellow (nothing like the Chod), and you want only the best for him, but it is not quite clear how they’ll make it work. There are 167 seats to fill, in a huge space where Drew Nieporent failed twice, most recently with Mai House.

The popularity of the so-called Catskills Jewish cuisine is long past a zenith reached decades ago. The region was once considered a prime summer vacation spot for Jews, but it went into a long decline after the 1950s, owing to the three A’s: assimilation, airplanes, and air conditioning. Most of the resorts are now abandoned, no longer Jewish, or are run as summer camps for the ultra-orthodox.

Kutsher’s, in fact, is the last kosher resort in the Catskills still operating year-round—but just barely. A couple of years ago, Mark and Helen Kutsher were ready to shut down after years of declining business. They got a reprieve when Yossi Zablocki, a lawyer from New Jersey, took over the place and injected much-needed capital. But the resort is still in poor shape, suffering from decades of under-investment. Many of the reviews on various travel sites are downright terrible. If Zablocki hopes to recapture the glory, he will have his work cut out for him.

I never visited Kutsher’s, but my girlfriend did. She even worked there one summer. She says Kutsher’s Tribeca doesn’t resemble the Catskills place at all. I don’t know what a modern version of Catskills décor would look like, but this ain’t it. But it’s pleasant enough, bedecked in bright blonde woods and soft banquettes. There’s a slightly over-loud, but inoffensive soundtrack that, like the décor, could be found anywhere. Should Kutsher’s fail, Chodorow could install his next gimmick with a minimum amount of retooling. Indeed, this must be the plan at any Chodorow establishment, given that they fail at around a 75 percent clip.

If you’re Jewish, you’ll recognize a lot of the menu: charoset, knishes, latkes, gefilte fish, matzo ball soup, potato kugel, chopped liver. Most of these are re-interpreted, served not quite the way you remember them. There’s no traif, but the restaurant is not kosher. Chef Mark Spangenthal adds a handful of neutral items like tuna crudo, beet and goat cheese salad, grilled duck breast, and the Creekstone Farms bone-in ribeye for two that mysteriously finds its way onto every menu in town, regardless of cuisine. These dishes are like the maroon sweater in your closet: they go with everything.

To me, this menu has a great nostalgic appeal. It remains to be seen how it will play to non-Jewish diners. There is something slightly comical when you hear an obviously non-Jewish bartender say, “I just love the kreplach.” Really?

The bread service (above left) was somewhat perfunctory, but I appreciated the soft butter. The Crispy Potato Latkes ($9; above right) with apple compote and sour cream were slightly less hearty versions of the ones I remember from childhood.

For $18, you can get the latkes topped with caviar, an absurdity that has Chodorow’s fingerprints all over it. How good can nine-dollar caviar be? For photos of this monstrosity, have a look at Gael Greene’s blog.

My girlfriend had the Matzo Ball Soup ($11; above left), which she said was terrific.

On the bartender’s recommendation, I decided to take a chance on the Gefilte Fish ($12; above right). This was a considerable risk, as the traditional version is the most vile concoction legal for human consumption: “a tan lump sitting in goo,” as Chef Spangenthal explains. The last time I tried it, I nearly gagged.

So Spangenthal set out to make a modern version that was…edible. For the usual mixture of pike, whitefish, and carp, floating in a jellied broth, he substituted sushi-grade halibut, bound with challah crumbs, beets, and horseradish. No jellied goo. He spent two months refining the dish. (There’s a longer explanation in New York.)

The good news is: he succeeded. This gefilte fish is actually enjoyable. I do wonder, though, how much appeal it’ll have for those who don’t have a nearly-inedible precursor to compare it to.

The Delicatessen ($16; left) came with three meats. Pastrami had a delicious smokey flavor (though not as good as Katz’s), but it was offset by listless veal tongue. The chopped liver was excellent.

I wasn’t able to properly enjoy the Romanian Steak ($26; right), as we had over-ordered. Whether Romanian Jews ever had steak like this is an open question. I was expecting something more like the flat strip served at Sammy’s. This version was sliced and served in a mound, topped with caramelized onions. The beef was cooked to a bright medium rare, and unlike Sammy’s, it was prime and without gristle. A mushroom knish on the side was rather dull.

We were too full for dessert; the meal ended with a packet of “Rabbi Mints” (left), the Catskills alternative to petits fours.

There are no traditional Jewish wines worth serving at such a restaurant, so the wine list here is a generic mix that could be served anywhere: once again, the Chod protects himself against failure.

The cocktails (all $12) have witty names, like “Bug Juice” and “Bungalow Bunny.” Bug Juice is better remembered in the non-alcoholic version of your youth. Try the Milton’s Mark (Maker’s Mark, sweet vermouth, maple syrup, Amargo pisco bitters).

The staff is knowledgeable about the menu and reasonably attentive. The relentless upselling for which Chodorow’s restaurants are so well known, is held mostly in check.

The dining room was about 2/3rds full by 8:00 p.m. The question for Kutsher’s Tribeca is how many of those guests will want to return. Will this be a go-to restaurant, or a gimmick to try once? The answer to that question will determine whether Kutsher’s is still on the scene a couple of years from now.

Kutsher’s Tribeca (186 Franklin St. between Greenwich & Hudson Sts, Tribeca)

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

Loi

Note: Loi closed in July 2014, supposedly because the restaurant’s owners could not reach a lease agreement with the landlord. I found the very large space nearly empty on both of my visits, and most of the city’s main critics never reviewed it. A meatery called Lincoln Square Steak replaced it.

*

Compass was the restaurant with more lives than a cat. Between 2002 and 2011, it chewed up and spitted out at least six executive chefs. Most of them were pretty good, but the place never developed a following.

Finally, the owners gave up on the name, and brought in Maria Loi as a partner to run the place. Known as the “Greek Martha Stewart,” she has written several cookbooks and, until recently, hosted a cooking show in Greece. She also owns a restaurant on one of the islands, produces a weekly magazine and a series of DVDs, designs a line of appliances and dinnerware, partners in a clothing business, and has also lobbied on behalf of firms like Texaco and Nokia.

I’ve no doubt that Ms. Loi has a talent for breaking down Greek cooking to a series of easy steps comprehensible to the amateur—like a Rachael Ray, Giada DeLaurentiis, or yes, Martha Stewart. None of this implies a talent for running a restaurant.

Hardly anyone believes that chefs like Daniel Boulud or Jean-Georges Vongerichten actually cook the food at the restaurants named for them. But they are, at least, full-time professional chefs, and have been for their entire adult lives. Ms. Loi isn’t even that. She’s the front for an operation that will be run (mostly) by others.

The restaurant—called Loi, naturally—re-opened in late October after a two-month renovation. The floor layout is pretty much the same as it was at Compass, but it’s clad in a handsome Aegean skin, with comfortable seats, crisp white tablecloths, and a regimented, well-dressed staff.

Five weeks in, Ms. Loi is an active presence in the restaurant, highly visible on both of my visits. (She told The Times she intends to be here “24/7.”) She spends most of her time making rounds in the dining room, saying hello at least briefly to all her guests, and chatting at some length with those she recognizes.

Not that the rounds are at all demanding. This restaurant may have the same problem Compass did: staying full. The space is huge. The main dining room seats 125. There is also a spacious bar and lounge, and three private dining rooms seat up to 300.

On two weeknights, a week apart, Loi was about 10 or 20 percent full at 6:45 p.m., before I headed over to Lincoln Center. If it does not attract a significant pre-theater following, which it hasn’t so far, I cannot imagine how it will fill up, especially with the more modestly-priced and far better-known Kefi nearby.

Not that Loi is terribly expensive, especially for such an attractive space. Appetizers, soups, and salads are mostly in the mid-teens, entrées mostly in the mid-to-high $20s. Still, diners won’t forgive sloppy execution, and there is some of that.

I’ve no complaint with the ample bread service (above left), but Loi’s version of a Greek Salad, the Horiatiki Loi ($14; above right) was marred by a chalky brick of feta that tasted like it has been cut hours earlier, and left to sit in the fridge. I had hardly blinked before it came out, which makes me suspect they have a bunch of these pre-made.

On my second visit, the kitchen sent out a quartet of stuffed grape leaves (above left) as an amuse-bouche. My girlfriend and I shared the Tirokeftedes ($15; above right), cheese croquettes with baked goat and manouri cheese, with a fig and apricot compote. This was a decent enough appetizer, but like the salad on my prior visit, came out within moments and didn’t seem quite as fresh as it should be.

I wasn’t at all fond of Loi’s Moussaka ($19; above left). The traditional minced mean filling had been ground to where you could almost have sipped it through a straw, and the Bechamel sauce tasted a bit sour.

On my second visit, the entrées were more successful. An ample hunk of salmon ($26; above right) had a rich, smokey flavor. I also liked the Seared Diver Scallops ($28; below left), served in a bright dill sauce with asparagus.

Desserts (above right) were comped, as it appears they are at every table. (We were not given a dessert menu to inspect; they just appeared.) The explanation was a bit difficult to follow. One was a traditional baklava, and I am not sure about the other. Anyhow, they were both very good—perhaps the best part of the meal.

The service was attentive and solicitous, especially in the dining room; less so at the bar. They are a shade over-eager to take your order and get you out the door to a show.

Any neighborhood can use an authentic Greek restaurant that is not as mass-produced as Kefi, but not as outrageously priced as midtown’s Estiatoria Milos. The menu at Koi is a work in progress (there are various recited specials), and so is its execution. Here’s hoping it becomes dependable.

My girlfriend, who did not suffer through my less impressive first visit, enjoyed Loi and would happily go back, and so we will.

Loi (208 W. 70th Street, west of Amsterdam Avenue, Upper West Side)

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

Bouchon Bistro, Beverly Hills

Bouchon Bistro is the (comparatively) casual arm of Thomas Keller’s restaurant group, which also includes two Micheln three-star restaurants, The French Laundry and Per Se.

There are Bouchons in Yountville (CA), New York, Las Vegas, and Beverly Hills, though the details differ. All four have a bakery/café that serves (mostly) pastries and sandwiches; New York has only that. The other three have more elaborate sit-down restaurants that take reservations, called Bouchon Bistro. The Beverly Hills branch also includes a no-reservations dining area called Bar Bouchon.

Keller says that French bistro cuisine is his favorite, so it was the natural choice when he decided to open something “more casual than The French Laundry.” It would still come across as a relatively formal restaurant by contemporary standards, with its white tablecloths, soaring ceilings, sparkling chandeliers, and a fairly traditional French service model. Only Keller or someone like him would open such a place today.

I thought about analogues in the New York market. In terms of the atmosphere and the clientele it attracts, the closest would be Café Boulud or The Mark by Jean Georges. In terms of the menu (French bistro classics, lightly tweaked), Benoit in West Midtown is the nearest equivalent.

The Beverly Hills branch opened in late 2009. My sister-in-law says that the reviews have been mixed. S. Irene Virbilia filed a rave in the L. A. Times. Jonathan Gold in LAWeekly seemed to feel that it was over-priced for what it is, though he conceded that a Beverly Hills restaurant could hardly be otherwise.

You won’t find a more rabid partisan for classic French cuisine than I, but they have to nail it, especially with entrées hovering around $30, and Bouchon Bistro didn’t. Among the five of us, we found a mixture of hits and clunkers.

There was no complaint about the bread service, though: a warm, twisting rope ladder of mini-baguettes with soft butter (below left).

Cod Brandade (above right) with tomato confit and fried sage was a hit. The light, crisp batter betrayed not a hint of grease. My brother also raved about a squab special (below left), which was rich, juicy, and much more substantial than we expected. This was the dish of the evening.

A beet salad (above right) was so insubstantial that it was almost insulting. Insubstantial too, was the Bouillabaisse (below left), nor particularly good, said both of my tablemates who tried it. And on “use-once” menus that are tissue-paper thin (wrapped around the napkin when you sit down), why must it be listed as a “market price”? It is not as if they are serving lobster or caviar here.

The so-called “Pekin Duck Breast” (above right) was much more satisfying, and cooked just about perfectly, and my brother had no complaint with Trout Grenobloise (below left). But my sister-in-law felt that a pork belly special (below right) was too heavy, with a gloppy glaze of barbecue-like sauce on an already fat-laden hunk of meat.

Service was attentive, though they were in such a rush to take our order that you almost sensed they wanted the table back. The wine list is presented in two parts, a lengthy reserve list in a leather-bound volume, in which nothing is under three figures; and another printed on card stock that is still fairly expensive. We found a decent 2008 Burgundy for a shade under $50, though there weren’t many like it. Even after we said we were done drinking, the staff returned with another bottle, ready to open if I had not been alert enough to stop them.

It’s a lovely, comfortable room, with tables widely spaced. On the whole, you will be well cared for, and you might even stumble upon their better dishes. Then again, you might not.

Bouchon Bistro (235 N. Canon Drive, Beverly Hills, CA)

La Promenade des Anglais

Note: As of September 2012, the restaurant is was renamed  “Bistro La Promenade,” serving straightforward French bistro fare. That shift did not improve its fortunes, and it closed in January 2014. Dave Pasternack, chef of the popular Hell’s Kitchen seafood spot Esca, will be opening an Italian seafood restaurant in the space called Barchetta.

*

Let’s go ahead and call it Allegretti 2.0, chef Alain Allegretti’s second attempt at a midscale French Mediterranean restaurant. I loved Allegretti 1.0, but the public and a number of critics disagreed. Frank Bruni gave it a respectful two stars in The Times, but in New York, Adam Platt compared it to “eating out with my grandmother in Westchester.”

Bruni wrote the more accurate review, but Platt had the more accurate prediction of the public response. They tried removing the tablecloths and offering various specials, but it was to no avail. Two years later, Allegretti “closed for renovations,” never to re-open. The chef consulted briefly at La Petite Maison while he waited to open a new place in far west Chelsea, in the old Bette space.

At La Promenade des Anglais, Allegretti has the particulars right. The tablecloths are gone, there’s a bustling bar, and the entrées top out at $30. (They went as high as $38 at Allegretti 1.0, and that was three years ago.)

V2.0 is not as good as V1.0, but the man has to make a living, and this is the food that a French chef not named Boulud, Ripert, or Vongerichten, can serve in New York these days.

The make-over is quite attractive, including the hard surfaces New Yorkers inexplicably favor these days, making it loud when full. Two months in, the crowds are thronging. Reservations at prime times are hard to come by.

The cuisine casts a wider net than V1.0 did, ranging across the Mediterranean. The chef’s well known Provençale Fish Soup has made the journey, but there’s also a selection of pastas and other Italian classics. The menu is on the safe side, but you can’t blame the guy.

The wine list runs to about seven pages, with good choices in a wide price range. (The 2008 Domaine Poulleau Père de Fils Côte de Beaune was $52. I can’t find a comparison price online, but that struck me as fair.)

Vitello Tonnato ($18; above left) was a happy re-imagining of the classic dish, with veal sweetbreads, sushi-grade blue-fin tuna, and romaine hearts. Ratatouille Raviolini ($19; above right) stuffed with Manchego were in a spicy chorizo tomato sauce.

A salad “Mille Feuilles” ($12; above left) was another re-imagining, with the Gorgonzola crostini taking the role of the puff pastry in the traditional preparation. It was a competent, forgettable salad.

Arctic Char ($25; above right) was beautifully prepared, but I didn’t at all enjoy the clash of ingredients underneath it: duck fat potatoes, endive marmelade, and pomegranate citrus jus. The endive marmelade seemed bitter, and the potatoes undermined the lightness of the fish.

The service was more attentive than I’d expect for a restaurant this busy. I suppose it says something about modern restaurant culture that I didn’t expect it to be very good—and it was.

The Post’s Steve Cuozzo was the first of the professional reviewers to file, awarding two and a half stars. That was my rating for Allegretti 1.0. This version isn’t as good, and although the space will never be an improvement in my book, the cuisine might get there someday.

La Promenade des Anglais (461 W. 23rd St. btwn 9th & 10th Avenues, Chelsea)

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

Porter House New York

Note: Porter House renovated in early 2016. The restaurant is now branded Porter House Bar & Grill. The decor is now lighter, resembling an upscale tavern. The review below pre-dates the renovation.

*

You know the backstory, right? Michael Lomonoco, the executive chef at Windows on the World, fortuitously ran an errand to pick up a pair of eyeglasses, and missed the conflagration at the World Trade Center, where he would most assuredly have perished.

Five years later, he opened Porter House New York at the Time-Warner Center, replacing V Steakhouse, Jean-Georges Vongerichten’s failed attempt at the same genre. Frank Bruni gave it just one star, comparing it to Outback Steakhouse. In a blog post three years later, he found it much improved, though not to the point of granting it a full re-review. The Post’s Steve Cuozzo is one of the few critics who continues to return to it, most recently in September of this year.

I’ve written about Porter House three times (here, here, here), and have paid other visits periodically. I continue to vacillate about where it stands in the NYC steakhouse pantheon. It has probably the loveliest dining room of any NYC steakhouse, with priceless views of Central Park. The service and the wine list are truly top-notch.

Yet, the steaks are often just a shade below what the best steakhouses deliver. Not way below, and not bad by any means. But not what they could be. Take the porterhouse itself ($51pp, below right). It’s sliced a hair too thin, and it doesn’t have the deep char that Minetta Tavern and Peter Luger have on their specimens. This is not rocket science. This is correctable.

Full disclosure: I was recognized, and the kitchen sent out a considerable amount of free food. We had not ordered appetizers, but we received the Wild Italian Arugula Salad (normally $16) and the Baby Scallops (normally $20; both above left) at no charge.

We ordered a side of Brussels Sprouts ($10; below left), and in addition the kitchen sent out the onion rings (normally $10; top of porterhouse photo, above right) and the mixed carrots with honey, dill, and ginger (normally $10; below right), all excellent.

So, you can go ahead and call me compromised, if you’d like, but Porter House ought to be the city’s three-star steakhouse, if only they could make some very correctable corrections to their steaks.

The menu has evolved considerably over the last five years. Where it once had “porterhouses” of beef, lamb, veal, and even monkfish, the standard beef porterhouse is now the only one offered. There remains a wide variety of beef cuts, including the excellent skirt steak at just $32, along with a small selection of seafood entrées (fewer than in the past) and the now-obligatory private-blend burger, for $26. The prices are reasonable for the location.

I’m afraid I don’t recall the wine we ordered off of the 500-bottle list, but I do recall that the sommelier steered me to a slightly less expensive one that he said was better, and then decanted it. This is a first-class operation.

Chef Lomonoco’s deal to open Porter House stipulated, among other things, that he would not open another restaurant for a significant period of time. I am not sure if that restriction has expired, but I’ve seen him on the floor just about every time I visit. This continues to be his only focus, as far as I can tell. (He is planning a wine bar in the adjacent space, on the top floor of the Time-Warner Center, which sounds like a complement to the restaurant, rather than a truly new venture.)

Unlike V Steakhouse, Frank Bruni’s one-star review did not hurt Porter House. I remember finding it near-empty during the dark days of the economic collapse, but on a recent Thursday evening it was full. Good for them, and good for New York.

Porter House New York (Time-Warner Center, 10 Columbus Circle, 4th floor)

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

Tertulia

The new Spanish restaurant Tertulia is this year’s “I-don’t-get-it” place. It isn’t bad: I visited three times, which I wouldn’t have done if I’d hated it. But I don’t understand the hype.

And hyped it is. Tertulia got an enthusiastic two stars in The Times, two-and-half in Bloomberg, three in New York, and four out of five in Time Out. Serious Eats was a notable dissenter: they rated it a B, and said, “We don’t get it.”

To be fair, I wasn’t taken with Boqueria, chef Seamus Mullen’s last place, which he left “amicably” last year. The two places are similar (same cuisine, casual vibe, reservations not taken, quite loud when full), so perhaps Mullen and I are just not on the same wavelength.

The printed menu changes frequently, and there seem to be announced specials every day. Most of the offerings are in two categories: breads, cheeses, and charcuterie ($5–20) and tapas ($6–16). There are usually two or three larger plates offered, for which prices can vary widely. A 40-day aged prime rib, shown on the website and mentioned in some reviews, was $72, but as of last Friday it was no longer on the menu.

Anyhow, the tapas are the core of a meal here, but very few of them pleased me. Either they were too bland, or too salty, or too greasy. A couple were pretty good, but Mullen’s batting average wasn’t high enough.

Tomates de Nuestro Mercado, a salad of heirloom tomatoes, melon, cucumbers, fresh cheese, and herbs (, $14; above left) was competent and forgettable. Spanish mackerel with Fabes beans ($12, above right) was so bland that it left no impression at all. Even the roasted and pickled peppers were unable to come to the rescue.

Cojonudo…Revisited ($5; above left) was a hit, and one of the better bargains on the menu. It’s just two bites of smoked pig cheek topped with a fried quail egg and pepper, but packed with all the flavor the first two dishes lacked.

Nuestras Patatas ($9; above right) ought to come with a warning: not to be ordered by one person. Crispy potatoes drizzled with Pimentó and garlic had a spicy kick, but you want at least two or three fellow-diners to share it.

Mullen touts Arroz a la Plancha ($16; above left) as a signature dish, but I hated it. The description (Calasparra rice, snails, wild mushrooms, celery, fennel, Ibérico ham) sounds promising , but it’s dominated by a torpedo of greasy brown rice that had none of the crisp char that you would expect from the plancha.

The flavors really pop out in the Ensalata de Otoño ($13; above right), with squash, kale, mushrooms, Idiazábal cheese, and mushroom vinaigrette. There is not a lot going on here, but it’s a successful dish.

The last item I tried was one of the large-format plates, the Fabada ($32; above left), a bean stew with pork belly, house-made morcilla and chorizo. The pork belly was crisped up nicely, and the chorizo had a strong, spicy kick. The morcilla, or blood sausage, seemed a bit too loose, and the Fabes beans still seemed bland to me, as they had the first time. The cold side of red cabbage that came with it (above right) did not add much.

The beverage program emphasizes sherries, ciders, and wine. There is no printed cocktail list, but the mixed drinks are good, if you ask for them. As I was alone, I didn’t have an opportunity to explore much of the wine list, but the Spanish ciders are worth a try. One one visit, I was served wine in a juice glass, which a Facebook friend said is common in Spain, but on another I was given a proper wine stem.

The dining room occupies a long, narrow space, with distressed brick walls, dark wood tables without tablecloths, and an open kitchen in the back. It is rather dark, and there are no windows, except at the front. Unlike Boqueria, Tertulia at least has real tables and seats with backs, though I didn’t get one: I sat at the bar three times. Last Friday night, there was a 10-minute wait for a bar stool at 6:00 p.m., with most tables taken. It was standing-room-only by 7:30.

That is the rhythm of dinner at Tertulia, three months in. Servers are friendly, knowledgeable, and good at multi-tasking, as they have to be in a place this busy. The cuisine here makes a nod at ambition. The menu seems to rely heavily on authentic ingredients, and the chef is not afraid to challenge his audience, but the ratio of hits to misses is not good enough.

Tertulia (359 Sixth Ave. between W. 4th St. & Washington Pl., West Village)

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

Benoit

Alain Ducasse never gets an opening right in New York. His troubles at the Essex House and at Mix are well enough known that I needn’t repeat them. (Let google be your friend, if they’re unfamiliar to you.) Anyhow, those restaurants are long gone.

Adour at the St. Regis and Benoit are both on their third executive chefs in roughly four years. I hear great things about chef Didier Elena’s tenure at Adour, but haven’t been back yet. The other night was my first visit to Benoit since Philippe Bertineau took over last year.

When Ducasse opened Benoit, he told The Times that he had a list of 100 recipes he’d like “to put on the menu sooner or later.” I can believe that, as the menu looks new almost every time I go. I won’t miss the fries “Louis l’Ami style,” stacked in an impressive-looking tower but cold and greasy on the inside, nor a bizarre pork shank I had in 2009.

Other items, like the egg mayo, escargots, onion soup, quenelles, roast chicken for two, and steak aux poivres, have been more or less constant since the place opened. Cassoulet is offered in season, as in right now. It’s all classic French bistro food, made well.

Prices have edged upward, as they have almost everywhere. In 2008, there were no items above $29; now, half the entrées exceed that price, with the high end at $39. Onion soup that was $9 in 2008 is $12 now. Cassoulet that was $26 in 2009 is $29 now.

You can also dine more economically. At each place setting is a printed card with a pencil, where you can check off three appetizers for $12 or five for $16. If you’re there before 6:30 p.m., as I was the other night, the pre-theatre prix fixe is $29 for two courses or $39 for three. (There is also a less expensive bar menu.)

The carb spread (above left) is pretty good, with four light gougères and sliced French bread in a cloth basket.

The $29 prix fixe offered three choices apiece for the appetizer and entrée. The twice-baked Comté cheese soufflé (above left) was rich and luscious, with a creamy sauce poured tableside. My apologies for the poor photo.

Skate Wing Grenobloise (above right) was the best fish entrée I’ve had in a few months, with crisp crust, tangy on the inside. (The term “Grenobloise” refers to a sauce with browned butter, capers, parsley, and lemon.) Skate isn’t a luxury fish, but the kitchen couldn’t have made it shine any more brightly.

The ambiance straddles the divide between fancy and casual. Once upon a time, there was a four-star restaurant here. The iconic room (formerly La Côte Basque) could stand to be a bit brighter. There are crisp white tablecloths, sauces and flambées at tableside, French-speaking waiters, and a deep wine list where many bottles reach three figures. But roasted peanuts (above right) replace the usual petits fours, the menu is presented in a plastic sleeve, and the wine glasses are “one size fits all.” There’s a good list of classic cocktails, like the French 75 ($15), but the list of wines by the glass is over-priced and underwhelming.

On some prior visits (this was my fourth or fifth), I’ve noted scatter-brained service as the restaurant fills up. I couldn’t test if that problem has been fixed, as it was only about one-quarter full at 6:15 p.m., and still under half full when I left for Carnegie Hall at 7:15. The server was attentive, and the food came out fairly quickly.

Ducasse keeps fiddling with the place, but despite occasional flubs on past visits, Benoit still feels like a two-star restaurant to me, and a vital one at that.

Benoit (60 W. 55th Street between Fifth & Sixth Avenues, West Midtown)

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

The Burger at Saxon + Parole

Earlier this year, AvroKO Hospitality Group and chef Brad Farmerie decided to close their three-year-old Asian-themed restaurant, Double Crown. Farmerie told The Times, “I want to take a fresh approach, innovate on familiar dishes with touches of North Africa and the Mediterranean.”

If there is anything fresh or innovative about its replacement, Saxon + Parole, it is lost on me. The menu offers the likes of seafood towers, a beet and feta cheese salad, a foie gras terrine, steaks, chops, lobster, chicken, a whole branzino, and so forth. It’s a generic upscale suburban restaurant, transplanted to the Bowery, with the kind of easily replicated fare that can be churned out on auto-pilot while Farmerie tends to his Michelin-starred flagship, Public.

The design department at AvroKO, which was once hailed for innovative designs at Public and Park Avenue, has fallen pray to repetition. This exact idea (named for two nineteenth-century race horses) hasn’t been used before, but there is nothing clever in its realization. The firm has become a world-class accumulator of tchotchkes.

In a one-star review earlier this week, Eric Asimov of The Times praised the burger ($17), so I ordered that. It gets a wonderful kick from a gooey fried egg, Havarti cheese, and maple bacon. The beef has a strong fatty flavor, but probably wouldn’t hold up on its own without all of the extra toppings. The fries ($6 if ordered separately) come with two dipping sauces, chili ketchup and blue cheese mayo. To my taste they were too greasy, but perhaps some people like them that way.

I dined at the bar, where getting a server’s attention was a chore. Whatever you may want—to get a menu, to order, to get a check—you’ll be waving your arms wildly before you’re noticed.

They do a brisk bar business here. I had two tequila-based drinks, the Bowery Fx and the Beetnik (both $14). The tables appeared to be about half full at 7:00 p.m., but that’s early by East Village standards. With tables spaced fairly close together and plenty of hard, exposed surfaces, it’ll get loud later on. I didn’t stick around to find out.

In a neighborhood chock full of restaurants with personality, I’m hard press to see the point of Saxon + Parole, which seems to revel in its very ordinariness. I suppose another AvroKO creation will replace it in a few years.

Saxon + Parole (316 Bowery at Bleecker Street, East Village)

Coppelia

Coppelia, as critic Robert Sietsema observed in the Village Voice, is what the average New York City diner might have been, if the tradition had been founded by Latinos instead of Greeks. Or the Walt Disney version, at any rate. It could transfer to the Cuban pavilian at Epcot (if there was one), and chef Julian Medina wouldn’t need to change a thing.

Medina is in his moment now, with three outposts of his Mexican place Toloache, two of his pan-Latin restaurant Yerba Buena, and now Coppelia, which is billed as Cuban, but isn’t really anchored to any national cuisine.

Coppelia is the least ambitious of the three, but as diners go, you’ll be happy it exists. Located strategically at the midpoint between Chelsea’s clubland and the Meatpacking District, it’s open 24/7, serving the perfect food for soaking up alcohol after night on the town. At 8:00 p.m. on a rainy Saturday evening, it was nearly deserted. My son wondered how it could stay in business. “The crowds come later,” I explained.

If you come in sober, what you’ll find is decent, inexpensive (for Chelsea), pan-Latin cuisine. Entrées are $13.95–17.95; burgers and sandwiches $6.95–7.95; starters and salads $2.95–10.95; breakfast dishes, served all day, $4.95–9.95. The food is slightly better than you are entitled to expect at those prices.

Fish tacos ($9.95; above left) offered crispy flounder and guacamole, topped with a rich chipotle cole slaw. Arroz con pollo ($15.95; above right) could feed a family. The chicken was tender, the rice sweet and sticky, and there was an abundance of peas, peppers, and scrambled egg.

But Ropa Vieja ($15.95; above left) was dull. The shredded beef both looked and tasted like traditional diner food, and a side of beans (above right) was too watery.

There is no liquor license yet (the staff says it’s a week away). A lime soda imported from Mexico wasn’t bad at all, though at $4.50 is a bit expensive in relation to the menu. Service was attentive, as it ought to be when the ratio of staff to customers is nearly one to one. I’ve no doubt they get a lot busier later on.

I wouldn’t want to over-hype Coppelia, but it’s the kind of restaurant you’re glad to have around.

Coppelia (206 W. 14th St., west of Seventh Avenue, Chelsea)

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