Devin Tavern

Note: Devin Tavern closed in January 2009. This time, it’s for real. Its replacement is Trattoria Cinque.

*

I felt guilty. Eater.com announced that Devin Tavern, a resident of its Deathwatch hospice had expired. I wrote an obituary that was premature. Yesterday, Eater walked the story back. Devin Tavern is still open. I figured the least I could do was have dinner there.

The restaurant has re-invented itself multiple times, in an effort—so far apparently fruitless—to win a steady following. I visited Devin Tavern v1.0 about two years ago. I liked the rustic menu, but Frank Bruni wrote it off after one blog post. Most of the major critics didn’t review it. I think they’re on their third chef now. The server wasn’t sure of his name, but she said it’s the same chef as nearby Dylan Prime, which has the same owners.

I don’t know if the restaurant will survive, but its website is overdue for an overhaul. Its “press” section has links to stories about a chef who is no longer there. Its online menu shows a number of items that are no longer offered. I had my heart set on the House Made Bacons, which have been dropped.

The current menu doesn’t blaze any culinary trails, but the kitchen did a solid job with Steak Frites ($24), a slightly chewy but expertly prepared hanger steak that I was happy to finish, with an excellent Hollandaise sauce on the side and good crisp fries.

Cocktails are superb, all of which are “made with house-made syrups, liqueurs & fresh juice,” a bargain at $12 each. The bread service was excellent, too.

The space is enormous, with several spacious dining rooms. They’ve probably never been full here, but last night they had a large private party and a solid bar crowd.

Seating is comfortable, and the rustic chic décor is easy on the eyes. Service was very good, as it ought to be when there aren’t many customers to keep track of.

Devin Tavern (363 Greenwich St. between Franklin & Harrison Sts., TriBeCa)

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

Kefi

[Kreiger via Eater]

If you’re an ethical food blogger—don’t snicker, that’s not an oxymoron—what do you do when a restaurant in its first week is a disaster? Do you assume the problems will eventually be worked out? Or do you call it like it is?

As of today, the new Kefi is a disaster—a blunder by two smart people who should have known better. The question is, how much can they improve? We figure that Michael Psilakis and Donatella Arpaia—chef and restauranteur respectively—will do their best to get it right. Yet, much of what is wrong stems from a misguided concept that is not easily fixed.

Let’s be blunt: this is their third restaurant together, and more are coming. Psilakis and Arpaia were both in the house on Saturday night, but that won’t last long. After the critics have come through, they’ll both be spending their time elsewhere.

In at least 10 visits to her various restaurants, this is the first time I’ve ever seen Arpaia. And in my experience, her restaurants do not improve with time. She has too many of them, along with other projects, to give the loving attention they need, and apparently she cannot find, or has not found, the right staff to manage them in her stead.

Here’s the background: Psilakis opened Onera on the Upper West Side, a Greek take on haute cuisine that critics liked, but wasn’t suited to the neighborhood. He turned it into an inexpensive casual place called Kefi, which didn’t take reservations or even credit cards. Meanwhile, the haute Greek idea was reborn as Anthos in a fancier midtown location, earning a Michelin star in its first year. Those aren’t the only restaurants Psilakis and Arpaia have been involved in, or rumored to be working on, but we’ll leave the history lesson there.

Kefi was a big hit. We were impressed. So were the critics. Peter Meehan filed a rave in $25 & Under. There was lots of love on the BruniBlog. But Kefi had a problem: it had only 70 seats, and waits to get in were interminable. So Psilakis and Arpaia decided to move several blocks away, where they could triple the space, and where they could finally accept reservations and credit cards.

I appreciate that Psilakis and Arpaia hated turning customers away. Yet, there was a grave risk that, in moving to a space 200% larger, the concept would lose its charm. That is exactly what has happened: stadium dining at its worst. The new Kefi feels like a theater district barn, geared to churn out hundreds of meals at a breakneck pace. The only difference is that Kefi doesn’t slow down at 8:00.

There are four rooms on two levels, each with its own design personality. (In this, it resembles Mia Dona, another Psilakis/Arpaia property.) This choice was supposed to “keep Kefi’s intimate appeal,” but it doesn’t work that way. The host station is inexplicably near the back of the first floor, so you have to navigate the clotted bar just to ask for your table.

This unfortunate intersection is adjacent to the kitchen, so runners with food and busboys with dirty dishes have to fight their way through the same space where diners not yet seated are forced to congregate. Staff and customers must also share a narrow winding staircase that leads to two downstairs dining rooms, and also to the restrooms. Anyone who works here will get plenty of exercise. This restaurant really needed a dumbwaiter.

Our adventure did not start well: they had lost our reservation. “We’ll accommodate you,” our hostess generously offered, after conferring with Ms. Arpaia. A better response might have been, “We apologize for misplacing your reservation.” I know that customers are sometimes mistaken or even deceitful about bookings they claim to have made, but a new and obviously disorganized restaurant might want to consider giving the benefit of the doubt.

Kefi was packed when we arrived, and it was packed when we left. It had the usual problems of a restaurant suddenly serving triple the number of guests. Runners were frequently confused about where to deliver food. This happened not just at our table, but everywhere. Most dishes came out not quite warm enough. This, too, happened repeatedly. Kefi is tightly packed, so it was not difficult to overhear the complaints. Plates were dropped off without silverware. Appetizer plates were cleared while leaving dirty silverware behind.

House-made sausage ($7.50; above left) was the best thing we had: tender, a bit spicy, and served at the right temperature. Greek salad ($6.50; above right) was pedestrian. Meatballs ($6.25; above right) had potential, but they were served lukewarm.

For the main course, I ordered the braised lamb shank ($15.95), as I had done at the former location. The plating last time (above left) is more careful, with the bed of orzo covering the plate and flecks of green on the shank itself. The version of it served on Saturday (above right) was a much lazier try, with the food carelessly dumped on the plate. The lamb shank itself was just fine, but with sufficient brazing any meat naturally would be.

Moussaka ($11.95; above left) and  Creamed Spinach ($5.50; above right) were both average. Neither one was served quite warm enough.

Dessert was alleged to be Sesame Sorbet ($3.95; above left), though it sure tasted like ice cream to us. Whatever it was, it was too tart.

If there’s a bright spot at Kefi, it’s the all-Greek wine list. There are tasting notes for each bottle, which is thoughtful of them, as these appellations will be utterly unfamiliar to most diners. Many bottles are very reasonably priced For $48 I was pleased with the 2001 Grande Reserve Naoussa Boutari (above right). If it were French, restaurants would sell it for twice as much.

Prices remain the saving grace at Kefi. We had three appetizers, two entrées, a side dish and a bottle of wine for just $105.60, before tax and tip. That’s a bargain by today’s standards, though it is still no excuse for serving lukewarm food in a charmless atmosphere. The new place still has Kefi’s name, but none of its appeal, other than low prices.

Ms. Arpaia came downstairs multiple times during our visit. But we never noticed her stopping at any table to ask how it was going. “She doesn’t look happy,” my girlfriend said. We passed her coming down as we were leaving. You’d think she might have said, “Thanks for coming.” Naturally, she did not.

Perhaps Psilakis and Arpaia will be able to whip this place into shape, but I doubt it. They have too many other projects, and too many of the problems are design flaws that are virtually impossible to fix. Even if they ace it, this place cannot duplicate the original Kefi’s charms. They should not have sullied its good name.

I am not going to pronounce Kefi a failure after just six nights of service. This chef and this owner have earned the right to prove they can do better. They have their work cut out for them.

Kefi (505 Columbus Avenue between 84th–85th Streets, Upper West Side)

Food: good, when it is served warm enough
Service: confused
Atmosphere: a dining stadium
Overall: incomplete

10 Downing

Note: This is a review under Chef Jason Neroni, who left the restaurant in September 2009. Jonathan Leiva replaced him. The restaurant has since closed, as did its successor, La Villette.

*

If you want to know when a restaurant will open, just double the estimate. When they plan to open in a month, it’ll take two. When they say six months, it’ll be a year. Even openings less than a week away are seldom a sure thing.

Then there’s 10 Downing, which finally opened in the West Village on November 12, after more delays than almost any restaurant in memory. In the Times’ fall preview, on September 2, Florence Fabricant reported that the restaurant would be opening “Next Wednesday.” But that wasn’t the first such promise: 10 Downing had the dubious distinction of appearing in the fall preview two years running.

As early as August 2007, the chef—then projected to be Scott Bryan, formerly of three-star Veritas—sat for an interview with Food & Wine, and described his plans with some specificity. Exasperated by the delays, Bryan left the project. By December, Jason Neroni had replaced him, with Katy Sparks “consulting.” We’ll skip the chronicle of the restaurant’s many postponements. Suffice it to say that dates were announced and retracted many times over the past year, before the place finally opened last month.

We had some healthy skepticism about Neroni. Since winning two stars from Frank Bruni at 71 Clinton—a restaurant I didn’t love—he has bounced around from project to project, including the disastrous Porchetta in Brooklyn. But he is still a bona fide talent, so why on earth does he need a superfluous “consultant” at his elbow, especially the peripatetic and overrated Katy Sparks?

The concept left me wondering whether 10 Downing would be a mindless clone of six dozen other places. A breathless Andrea Strong announced that Neroni would “create a collaborative, market-driven menu that will draw upon the goods at the Union Square, and Sixth Avenue farmer’s markets.” Wow! Who’d have dreamt it?

Well, after all that, 10 Downing has arrived, and my verdict is a cautious endorsement. If Neroni stays put, this could become a very good restaurant. My girlfriend and I both started with the Duck Meatball Cassoulet ($12; left), and it was terrific. The meatballs were tender and full of flavor. The beans were hearty and well seasoned.

This dish wasn’t on the opening menu, so I gather Neroni is adding things regularly, as a purportedly market-driven chef should be. While I was waiting at the bar, Neroni brought out a pile of spoons and a container of sauce, which he asked all the servers to try so that they could describe it to their customers.

Neither of the entrées impressed us as much. Chicken ($23; above left) and Atlantic Cod ($25; above right) were solid, but unelectrifying choices. That chicken, by the way, was originally offered for two, at $43, but as of last Friday it was available as a hearty portion for one.

10 Dowining is priced a tad below other restaurants in its peer group. The highest entrée is $28, the highest appetizer $14 (with many just $9). I found a very respectable red wine for $40. The total bill was just $115 before tax and tip, which is extremely reasonable for food of this quality.

The space is smartly decorated, with a wall of glass doors looking out over Sixth Avenue. When the weather improves, there will be a large outdoor café. The medium-sized dining room is comfortable, but it can get a bit loud. Service was generally up to par, though a bit less attentive after the place filled up. I loved the warm bread rolls.

It’s hard to forecast the trajectory of a new restaurant, but 10 Downing is already respectable, and if Neroni keeps re-inventing and refining his menu, it could turn out to be a lot of fun.

10 Downing (10 Downing Street at Sixth Avenue, West Village)

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

The Bouley Burger, Upstairs

Note: Bouley Upstairs closed in July 2008. It now operates as Bouley Studio, with a Japanese Kaiseki menu on Thursdays and Friday evenings, and a limited menu of sandwiches and burgers the other days.

*

When I walked by Bouley Upstairs a couple of weeks ago, I saw a space transformed. The former bakery has high-tailed it across the street, and in its place are about half-a-dozen tables, generously spaced, with crisp tablecloths and wine glasses. The formerly rag-tag place has turned into a real restaurant.

The name “Bouley Upstairs,” which was formerly “Upstairs at Bouley Bakery,” will probably be the answer to a trivia question someday. The restaurant is now both upstairs and downstairs. The added space allows more room to breathe, though the staff told me the second floor is still a tight fit.

The menu seems to be broader than it was, with some classics kept around and seasonal specials. I am not quite sure how they manage it with such a small kitchen, but I suspect there are sometimes long waits for food. The Japanese offerings have been expanded considerably, to the point that Upstairs is practically two restaurants in one. There are now several prix fixe options on the Japanese side of the menu, ranging from $35 to $85, along with a substantial à la carte list.

I’ve started a new project: sampling the upscale burgers that are popping up all over town. Last night, I decided to try Bouley’s ($15 with cheese), which has been on the menu from the beginning. Alas, this wasn’t one of the better ones. An English muffin should not stand in for a bun, and the taste of red onions overpowered the meat.

It’s a messy burger to eat, though that’s not necessarily a flaw. When I got home, my suit jacket went onto the dry cleaning pile.

The $10 glass of red wine I had was pretty good, though I’ve forgotten what it was. The wine list overall seemed to lack the inexpensive bottles that a restaurant in Upstairs’ price range ought to have. When the entrées top out at $21, the wine list shouldn’t be almost all above $50.

I am not sure if this is destination dining or a good neighborhood cafeteria, but based on past meals (here, here) I’ll assume it’s still a 1½-star restaurant. Upstairs has a stratospheric 25 food rating on Zagat. At the very least, it’s a lot more comfortable to graze here than it was before, and the service last night was much improved compared to my previous visits.

Bouley Upstairs (130 West Broadway at Duane Street, TriBeCa)

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

Flatbush Farm

Flatbush Farm is yet another entry in the farm-to-table movement, an idea that wasn’t exactly new when the restaurant opened in Park Slope in 2006. This haute barnyard sure is dark—not quite like the photo above, but close. Those with middle-aged eyes might struggle to read the menu.

That menu features modestly priced starters at $7–14, mains mostly $16–22, bar snacks $6–12, and desserts $7–8. Dry-aged steak for two is an incongruous $70.

The server recited a long list of specials—enough of them that it was hard to keep track of the choices. Reprinting the menu daily would reinforce the restaurant’s greenmarket cred. and would make ordering easier.

Crispy Pig’s Head (above left) was one of those daily specials. According to the server, “It’s great. Just forget about how they made it.” That was pretty good advice. Little balls of slightly gooey pig flesh were coated in spicy breadcrumbs and deep fried. I would order it again any day.

A pork terrine (above right) with quail eggs wasn’t bad either, but it was a touch on the cool side, as if it had sat in the fridge too long.

The Roasted Pork Chop (above left) was tender, with a nice smoky char on the outside. My girlfriend had asked for a substitution in lieu of sweet potatoes. The kitchen forgot (or hadn’t been told), and the dish had to be re-plated. Her vegetables were fine, but mine weren’t warm enough.

There were other service glitches too. A perfunctory bread service came with a vat of herb butter that looked good, but turned out to be hard as a rock. We asked for tap water. The server pointed at a bottle already on the table, and said, “There you go.” But she didn’t pour it, and it wasn’t cold.

I asked for a bottle of 2004 Cabernet, but the server apparently did not notice that she had returned with a 2006. When I pointed it out, she had to consult with a manger before replying, “The wine list is out of date. Our current vintage is 2006.” Anyhow, I rejected that and requested a 2003 Tempranillo (above right) at the same price, $38.

The mistakes seemed mostly forgivable at this restaurant’s price point. But they were enough to put Flatbush Farm at a disadvantage when compared to Manhattan restaurants offering similar fare with greater polish.

Flatbush Farm (76 St. Marks Avenue, Park Slope, Brooklyn)

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

The John Dory

 

Note: The John Dory closed in August 2009. A similar, but much more casual version of the concept, re-opened in 2010 in the Ace Hotel as the John Dory Oyster Bar.

*

Five years ago, The Spotted Pig was an overnight sensation in the West Village. If chef April Bloomfield and her partner Ken Friedman had followed the usual path, by now there’d be Pig clones all over town, and a couple more in Vegas and Atlantic City. But Bloomfield stayed focused on the Pig, which earned an improbable Michelin star and has held onto it for four years running.

Nothing lasts forever: Bloomfield and Friedman now have their second restaurant, The John Dory, which opened two weeks ago in Southwest Chelsea, on the same block as Del Posto and Craftsteak. (Del Posto’s Mario Batali and Joe Bastianich are investors in both the Spotted Pig and the John Dory.)

Friedman has an eye for witty design. At the Spotted Pig, the theme is “pig art.” Here, it’s “fish art,” and he arrays it even more deftly than at the earlier restaurant, from fish lures embedded in a countertop, to fish tiles in the floor. A large tropical fish tank stands sentry over the bar.

There are just two small dining rooms. The first one, with about eight tables, rests on a narrow elevated platform and offers a terrific view of the open kitchen. The second one is in a side room with a view of the fish tank. There is ample counter seating facing the kitchen.

Bloomfield has wisely kept the opening menu short and focused, with just seven appetizers ($14–20) and eight entrées ($24–35). There’s also a few raw bar choices and five crudi ($16–20). Side dishes ($8–10) are excellent, as they are at the Spotted Pig.

It was obvious that many of the patrons were friends of the management, but Bloomfield never once left the kitchen to schmooze (she left that to Friedman). We saw one critic in the house (GQ’s Alan Richman), and the staff seemed to think Frank Bruni was coming too, but we didn’t spot him.

We started with a cute amuse-bouche of arctic char pâté (above right) with chips for spreading. There should probably be a bit more, as it disappeared rather quickly.

Sardines “A La Plancha” (above left; $18) had a nice cruncy texture and were nicely seasoned with almonds, raisins and paprika. My girlfriend pronounced the Fish Soup (above right; $16) a success.

There is, of course, John Dory on the menu. On some nights, they seem to offer it for one, but when we visited it was available only for two ($50). Instead, I had the Whole Grilled Sea Bream (above left; $26), which was presented tableside and then filleted. This was a lovely preparation, with a rosemary-anchovy pesto on the skin. Pan-Roasted Cod (above right; $28) was just as good.

Sweet Potatoes (above left; $8) were dusted with bone marrow and served in hefty beefsteak slices. Our second side dish was much delayed, but I give the server credit for how she handled it. Instead of just leaving us staring at dirty dishes, she cleared the table and re-set it with fresh plates and flatware. Jensen’s Temptation (above right; $10) works perfectly well as a separate course, though it clearly wasn’t intended that way. It’s a Swedish preparation of scallopped potatoes, with onions, heavy cream, and an anchovy crust.

As we were leaving, it dawned on me that the coat-check attendant hadn’t given me a ticket. Despite that, she seemed to know who I was, and had my coat ready for me. It was just one of many points, both little and great, that made me feel like these people know how to run a restaurant. My girlfriend had the same thought: “They’re going to do just fine.”

The John Dory (85 Tenth Avenue between 15th & 16th Streets, Chelsea)

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

Mr. Jones

Note: Mr. Jones closed in June 2009.

*

It was the day after Thanksgiving, and we wanted something casual. I decided on Mr. Jones, the new Yakitori restaurant on the northern edge of the East Village. If Jones doesn’t sound familiar, you haven’t missed anything: he’s fictitious. What he has to do with Yakitori, or Japanese food served on skewers, utterly eludes me.

Restaurant Girl nailed the décor: George Jetson’s bachelor pad. Someone dropped major coin to build it, but the design betrays some indecision about the mission. The inconspicuous exterior looks like a garage door. Inside, it looks more like a party lounge than a restaurant, with its tightly-packed tiny tables and low-slung chairs. “Japanese” isn’t exactly what comes to mind. I’ve been to a few Yakitori restaurants in Tokyo. They look nothing like this.

Neither do the staff: our server was a busty Brazilian girl, dressed in a low-cut frock. The manager looked like the Russian mafia. The chef, Bryan Emperor, isn’t Japanese either, but he has some serious cred., with stints at Nobu, Megu, Bouley, and a kaiseki restaurant in Japan. His job is more boring than a Maytag repair man’s: we found his restaurant almost totally empty. I hope for his sake that the day after Thanksgiving was atypical.

You can have some fun here. The cocktails are a diverse lot, many of them classics,and well made. Most of the food follows the food-on-skewers theme, though with some ingredients I’ve never seen in Japan, like pork belly, foie gras, and chicken wings. There are some misfires, but most of what we tried was enjoyable.

We spent just $114 for two before tax & tip, and that included two cocktails apiece. At that price, one is loath to complain. Nevertheless, several dishes came out not quite warm enough—an odd mistake, given that we had the place to ourselves.

The small-plates format encourages communal ordering, though some items weren’t well designed for it (e.g., why three meatballs?), and when we asked for plates to divide our food, the little dishes they produced were only slightly larger than a cigar box. Like most small-plate restaurants, the kitchen tosses out the food at whatever pace and in whatever order suits the chef. Sometimes you have nothing, and at other times you have two plates at once.

They were also out of several things, on a small menu of about 35 appetizer-sized items in various categories (chicken, beef, rice, soup…), most of them $10 or less. With some help from our server, we chose eight items to share, which proved to be about right. They were all $5–9 apiece except for the Kobe meatballs, which were $12.

The menu has been changing. Those meatballs were originally listed at $16, and some other items shown on the bill don’t agree with the online version.

Berkshire Black Hog Belly ($5; above left) is usually a safe bet, but this skewer was lukewarm and adorned with not much more than a bit of sea salt. Tori Tatsuta Age ($9; above right), or Japanese style chicken wings, were a hit, with a generous allotment of six to the portion.

Chicken is probably the most authentic of Mr. Jones’s Yakitori ingredients. Naturally, it is “Organic Free Range Chicken,” but when it’s drowning in spicy Yuzu sauce ($7; above left), I doubt its pedigree matters very much. It was actually one of the better items on the menu, in an unsubtle way.

I liked the Kobe Meatballs stuffed with foie gras ($12; above right), though as noted above, it wasn’t easy to divide 3 meatballs among two people.

Wagyu Short Ribs ($8; above left) were tender, and the kitchen wisely went easy on the sauce, letting the superior beef speak for itself. The next item was a bowl of mushrooms and rice ($9; above right) that I don’t recognize in the online menu. The mushrooms were a tad under-cooked.

Vegetable tempura ($8; above left) was perfectly done: six pieces in a light and greaseless tempura batter. Calamari tempura ($8; above right) suffered from an excess of sauce. Any calamari beneath all that batter was undetectable.

There are some slips-ups on the menu at Mr. Jones and some faulty execution in the kitchen, but we enjoyed most of what we tried. With most of the items priced under $10, you don’t feel cheated if one or two of them are less than satisfying. For a diverting bit of fun, Mr. Jones is worth a visit.

Mr. Jones (243 E. 14th Street between 2nd & 3rd Avenues, East Village)

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

Back Forty

Note: Back Forty closed in late 2014, due to “a difficult landscape and lease uncertainty.” Its sister restaurant, Back Forty West, remains open.

*

When I reviewed Savoy two years ago, I noted my amazement that chef–owner Peter Hoffman had remained satisfied with just one restaurant after sixteen years in business. These days, any reasonably successful chef feels the itch to open a second place, and soon after, a third.

Sure enough, a year later came Back Forty, a more casual restaurant than Savoy, but in the same haute barnyard style that Hoffman made popular before everyone was doing it. Actually, the décor feels a bit like a gussied-up barnyard, with hefty wooden tables and farm implements hanging from the walls.

In the Times, Peter Meehan reviewed Back Forty a year ago today, finding it inconsistent but promising. Reviews turn up regularly on the food boards, suggesting that this restaurant is pulling in much more than just the East Village neighborhood crowd. Then again, these days practically any good East Village restaurant can consider itself a destination.

The menu is extremely inexpensive for a restaurant of this quality, with starters $4–10, entrées $10–20, sides $3–7, and desserts $7–8. Most of the wines are under $50 per bottle, with ample choices below $40. A quartino of the house red was just $5.

I had come for the burger, which I knew would be quite filling, so I ordered just a small appetizer for my son and me to share, the Pork Jowl Nuggets ($4; below left). Had the server told us that it came with just three extremely small “nuggets,” we would have ordered a second starter. They were extremely good, with just a touch of spice supplied by Jalapeño jam, but after we divided the middle nugget in two, all we had were two tiny bites apiece.

We debated whether to order something else, but we figured our burgers would be quickly on the way. Alas, we waited quite a while for them. At another table that was seated after us, their burgers came before ours did. (The burger seems to be a popular choice; we saw quite a few of them come out.)

This being an haute barnyard, Back Forty doesn’t serve merely a burger, but a Grass Fed Burger (above right). It’s $11 on its own, $2 for cheese (only Farmhouse Cheddar is offered), another $2 for Heritage Bacon (which we skipped), and another $2 for Rosemary Fries on the side.

Meehan at the Times felt that the grass-fed beef “lacks something,” but we thought it was pretty damned good, with a delicious buttery softness, although a tad too small for the bun. The fries were terrific, too. My son, who isn’t easily pleased, thought this was a restaurant he’d happily come back to.

Avenue B is a considerable distance out of the way, so I probably won’t be returning quite as often as Back Forty deserves. There’s a whole pig roast on Monday evening, and I’d certainly love to come back for that.

Back Forty (190 Avenue B at 12th Street, East Village)

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

The Bobo Burger

Ah, Bobo…poor Bobo…the restaurant that could never catch a break.

When last we saw our poor suffering hero, Bobo was on its second chef, soon to be deposed for a third chef. Alas, that wasn’t good enough to impress New York’s Adam Platt or Frank Bruni of the Times, both of whom awarded one star, finding the food too uneven to earn two.

For our part, we are still betting that Bobo will succeed. The new chef, Patrick Connolly, comes with a successful stint at Boston’s Radius to his credit. We still love the space, the prices are reasonable for the neighborhood, and the service is better than you find at many restaurants in its peer group. There are some conceits that a cynical reviewer would call precious, but we still want to give Bobo a big hug.

Many restaurants are serving gourmet burgers these days, and one day I decided on impulse to give Bobo’s a try. I hadn’t written down the address, and I very nearly couldn’t find the place. The graphic on Bobo’s website, shown above, seems to be making a joke about the restaurant’s secluded and unlabeled location in an old townhouse on W. 10th Street.

In the casual downstairs bar, old albums are the theme. The bar menu is pasted onto the center label of an old 33rpm record, and the wine list is pasted inside a double-album cover. (You can also order the main restaurant menu downstairs.)

Even though I was only having a burger, there was a full bread service with soft butter. The wine I ordered was a very reasonable tempranillo at $10 a glass, and the server offered a taste before I committed to it. These are small points, but plenty of more expensive restuarants get them wrong.

What about that burger? Owner Carlos Suarez described it on Eater.com:

The development/thinking on the Bobo burger is all about simplicity, though. Its five key ingredients: a potato roll, gruyere cheese, crispy fried leeks above the meat, house-pickled leeks underneath, and the meat. There’s a spice to the meat—it just has a slightly different flavor profile. Plus, we’re doing a finer grind on the beef than you usually see. We did 20 dif variations—added pork, pancetta, guanciale, toyed with an egg, different rolls—and this was the one most well received. It’s straightforward, not trying to add unnecessary expenses. All familiar flavors.

I am so sure that a burger served with leeks is “straightforward.” It worked, though if we’re being picky, the bun didn’t quite stand up to the gooey mess inside it. The fries, spiced with salt, pepper, corn starch and chives, were surprisingly good, and I finished them all.

The bar was doing good business at around 6:30 p.m. on a Thursday evening, though it was not full. Bobo remains a fun place, and I suspect we’ll be back.

Bobo (181 W. 10th Street at Seventh Avenue South, West Village)

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

Le Bernardin

Note: The photo above pre-dates a 2011 renovation of the dining room.

*

I hit a milestone this year. No, it’s not my 48th birthday. It’s that I’ve now visited every one of the city’s four-star restaurants at least once. Of the five restaurants currently holding that distinction, Le Bernardin is the one to which I’m most eager to return.

It’s not that Le Bernardin is the best of the bunch—though it very well may be—but that it’s the most versatile. I loved my meals at Per Se and Masa, but both are crazily expensive, and their long tasting menus don’t change much. Daniel and Jean Georges are both excellent, but neither one impressed me quite as much as Le Bernardin. On top of that, there are enough menu options to dine frequently at Le Bernardin without repeating anything. Based on the sustained quality of the Chef’s Tasting Menu we had, it appears you can’t go wrong here. If I could afford it, we’d be here once a month.

Le Bernardin is the oldest of New York’s top-rated restaurants, having won four stars from Bryan Miller of the Times in March 1986, when it was less than three months old. It was a near-clone of a Paris restaurant run by chef Gilbert Le Coze and his sister, Maguy, who watched over the front-of-house. They closed their Paris restaurant in December 1986 to focus on New York full-time. Bryan Miller awarded four stars yet again in February 1989. (In those days, the Times re-reviewed major restaurants far more quickly than it does today.)

Gilbert Le Coze died in July 1994 of a sudden heart attack. He was only 49, but a youngster named Eric Ripert, then 29, had already been in charge of the kitchen for over three years. Times critic Ruth Reichl took another look in April 1995, finding Le Bernardin still worthy of four stars. The paper’s most recent review came from Frank Bruni in March 2005. You guessed it: four stars.

How has Le Bernardin remained on top of its game for more than two decades? Few restaurants in its class would have survived the death of the original chef, and most seem to rest on their laurels after a while. Even fans of Jean Georges admit that the menu has hardly changed in ten years. But Vongerichten now leads a worldwide empire of almost twenty restaurants. Eric Ripert has taken on the occasional consulting gig, but Le Bernardin has his nearly undivided attention.

And he is still innovating. As Bruni noted, “Asian accents are scattered throughout a menu that bears scant resemblance to the one in 1995.” In a recent Feedbag post, Ripert noted that the staff have meetings every week to try new recipes, and “Maybe one in three dishes makes it onto Le Bernardin’s menu—if that.” Grub Street published a list of the maître d’s 129 Cardinal Sins for Waiters, an admirable opus that every new employee at Le Bernardin must study, and that ought to be mandatory reading at most other restaurants.

The atmosphere is lovely, but it certainly isn’t as romantic or as picturesque as the city’s other four-star restaurants. Frank Bruni exaggerated when he compared the dining room to “a first-class airport lounge.” I wonder what airports Bruni’s been visiting; I’ve never seen one like this. But the space certainly lacks the serenity of other restaurants in its class. On the Le Bernardin website, the background sound is the hubbub of diners chattering—accurate enough, but an odd choice. (I don’t like restaurant websites with a sound track anyway, but if you’re going to have one, why that?)

The format here is a four-course prix fixe at $109, nearly all seafood. The savory courses are in three groups: Almost Raw, Barely Touched and Lightly Cooked, with about a dozen choices for each. There’s also, “upon request,” squab, lamb, Kobe beef ($150 supp.) or pasta. It’s hard to imagine that anyone would come here for the steak, but Ripert told Grub Street that he sells 50 orders of it a night—an astonishing total at a seafood restaurant.

There are two tasting menus: seven courses for $135 or eight more luxurious ones for $185. As it was my birthday, we had the latter, along with wine pairings for an additional $140 per person. The wines were certainly very good, but in terms of real value you could probably do better by the bottle or half-bottle.

The amuse-bouche (left) was a mushroom soup of startling clarity, with hunks of succulent lobster at the bottom of the cup. The bread service was excellent, with several house-made varieties.

 

The first course was a remarkable thinly-pounded salmon carpaccio with a dollop of caviar tucked inside, all perched on a wafer-thin toasted brioche (above left). You don’t get much closer to perfection.

Seared Japanese blue fin tuna (said to be the world’s first of the species that’s “sustainably raised”) was beautifully balanced with parmesan crisp, sun-dried tomato, and black olive oil (above right).

 

The fireworks continued as the kitchen somehow managed to fill sautéed calamari with sweet prawns and shiitake mushrooms (above left). Lobster was paired with asparagus a hollandaise-like sauce (above right). As an aside, this was one of the few dishes that prominently featured a vegetable. Most of Ripert’s dishes put vegetables, if he uses them at all, far into the background.

 

The closest thing to a letdown was the Escolar, or white tuna, poached in extra virgin olive oil with sea beans and potato crisps (above left). It had a flat, bland taste. But crispy black bass (above right) was excellent, as was the surprisingly good parsnip custard that came with it (below left). Who knew parsnips could be so good?

 

Each dessert seems to revolve around a simple idea, beautifully executed. I loved the roasted fig with goat cheese parfait, hazelnut, red wine caramel, and bacon ice cream (above right).

 

A chocolate ganache (above left) brought approving nods from across the table, but I’m not fond of chocolate, so I asked for a substitute. They gave me a choice of anything on the dessert menu, and I chose the carrot cake (above right), which I’d be happy to have any day. You can’t read it in the photo, but that’s “Happy Birthday” written in chocolate in front of the tiny cake (below left). We concluded with the usual petits-fours (below right).

 

Service was first-rate: If any of the maître d’s cardinal sins was violated, we didn’t notice it. There are more romantic settings in New York, but everything on the plate was extraordinary.

Le Bernardin (155 W. 51st St. between Seventh Ave. & Broadway, West Midtown)

Cuisine: Modern French seafood, possibly the best in the universe
Service: Classically elegant
Ambiance: A slightly old-fashioned fancy room (remodeled since this review)

Rating: ★★★★