Bar Boulud

I dropped into Bar Boulud last night for a pre-opera snack. The tables were all full at around 7:00 p.m., but there were a few seats available at the communal table (far left in the above photo).

The menu offered at the communal table seems to be abbreviated, but I quickly settled on one of the warm charcuterie specialties, the Saucisse Fumée Façon “Morteau” ($16), or smoked cumin-spiced sausage on a lentil stew. For what it was, this dish was about perfect. I could eat like this every day.

As I observed last time, service can be helter-skelter, although they fared better at two recent lunch visits. Servers do a first-class job when you have their attention, but getting it isn’t so easy, as there aren’t enough of them to go around, especially in the frantic pre-theater hour.

But the kitchen still seems to have its act together, which is more than you can say for many a Lincoln Center restaurant. Despite its faults, we are lucky to have Bar Boulud in our midst.

Bar Boulud (1900 Broadway near 63rd Street, Upper West Side)

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

Roberto

 

For years, I’ve been reading about the “other” Little Italy on Arthur Avenue, in the Bronx. It’s supposed to be less of a tourist trap. The food is supposed to be better. Last weekend, with my son in town, we visited the legendary Roberto.

The restaurant has been in a lovely townhouse on Crescent Street, just steps away from the main drag on Arthur Avenue, since 1989, when it was Tony & Roberto’s. In 1993, Times critic Molly O’Neil awarded one star. A few years later, brother Tony went back to Salerno, leaving Roberto Paciullo in charge by himself—still stopping by every table to ask how your meal was.

From most parts of the city, it is not especially easy to get here by mass transit. Fortunately, we live close by the George Washington Bridge Bus Terminal in Washington Heights, where you can catch the Bx36 bus to the corner of Bathgate Avenue and E. 180th Street. That still leaves you about eight blocks away, and you’d best have a map with you unless you already know the area. The closest subway stop, 182nd–183rd Streets on the D line, leaves you with a good 15–20 minutes’ walk.

Roberto does not take reservations except for large parties, and if you arrive at prime times you have a long wait ahead. We got there around 5:30 p.m. on a Saturday, and it was already nearly full. The hostess said she could seat us downstairs, which didn’t sound so good, but was actually a blessing. We were in a small, quiet room with about 6 tables, dominated by a long wine wall with hundreds of rare bottles, mostly magnums and double-magnums. Two hours later, when we left, the main dining room upstairs was noisier than a train station at rush hour.

The menu is long, and on top of it the server recited a dozen or more specials. Naturally, by the time he’d finished his lecture we’d forgotten at least half of them. We got the sense that large portions were coming, so we settled on one antipasto, two pastas and two entrées to share amongst three people. That turned out to be about right.

We started with a good spicy Cotechino ($14), or Italian pork sausage, with spinach and cannellini beans. Both of our pastas were specials. There were tender Agnolotti ($21) filled with goat cheese and braised short rib; and Fettuccini with a short rib ragoût ($25). I don’t think we actually meant to order short rib twice, but that’s what happens when recited specials go whizzing by too fast. My son made short work of Pollo Affumi ($21), or chicken with prosciutto and mozzarella, while we shared a tender Lamb Shank Ossobucco ($26).

None of the savory courses came out quite warm enough. Dishes weren’t heated before the food was plated, and they cooled a bit on the way from kitchen to table. The captain served us family-style, but anything left cooled quickly, since the original plates weren’t warm. Silverware was not replaced after our first course, but it was after our second.

Dessert was, I believe, a terrific almond cake with cinammon ice cream, which the three of us shared. (It’s the only food photo I took that is worth publishing.)

The wine list doesn’t seem to have any bargains, but we got a perfectly respectable 2003 Villa Puccini Chianti Riserva for $44.

I have no idea if we got the best, the worst, or the average performance for this restaurant. With such a sprawling menu and 240 covers a night, it’s inevitable there will be highs and lows. Everything was solid here, but the food was somewhat let down by the service. Still, it was a fun evening, and we’ll probably try it again sometime.

Roberto (603 Crescent Avenue at Hughes Avenue, Bronx)

Food: *
Service: Sub-*
Ambiance: *
Overall: *

The Spotted Pig

Note: Click here for a review of FergusStock at The Spotted Pig. Click here for a review of the famous burger.

The Spotted Pig has been packing in West Village diners more-or-less continuously since it opened 4½ years ago. The tiny gastropub doesn’t take reservations, and waits of an hour or more are legion. I generally avoid such places, so the Spotted Pig and I were making do without each other till last Friday. That day, I realized that if I left work at 5:00 p.m. and headed straight for the Pig, I’d be there when they opened, and would probably get a seat. It worked…and the food was good enough that I just mighty try it again. And again.

The English chef, April Bloomfield, has stints at London’s River Cafe and Berkeley’s Chez Panisse on her C.V. It was enough to impress Mario Batali, Joe Bastianich and Ken Freeman (who are all investors). It was enough to impress Eric Asimov of the Times, who delivered a rave in $25 & Under. And it was enough to impress the Michelin inspectors, who gave the Pig a star, which it has held four years in a row.

Frank Bruni awarded one star in 2006, though in his four-star system that isn’t quite as much of a compliment. Regardless of the merits, read the Asimov and Bruni pieces, and it’s as clear as can be which one should be reviewing restaurants, and which one is an imitator. Mind you, I think one star (in Timesspeak) is about right for this place—but not when you’ve awarded two to so many other mediocre ones, as Bruni has done.

But let’s get back to the Spotted Pig, where eclectic European comfort food comes in four sizes: bar snacks ($3–7.50), appetizers ($14–18), entrées ($17–32) and side dishes ($7–10). If you’re a vegetarian, a plate of five sides is $24. Except for the acclaimed roquefort cheeseburger ($17; the most popular dish), the entrées are all $25 and higher, and there are three that sell for $32. At these prices, one might resent the loud and crowded pub space, seating on backless stools, and a no-reservations policy. But for almost five years now, the verdict of the dining public is that it’s worth it.

Sheep’s Milk Ricotta Gnudi with Brown Butter & Sage ($15) have been on the menu from the beginning, and one can see why. They’re soft, delicate, rich, and just heavenly: surely one of the top ten appetizers in town. I got a little more adventurous for the entrée: Lamb Crépinette with lamb kidneys and black-eyed peas ($29). Braised lamb shoulder was stuffed in a sausage casing, covered in diced kidneys and a heavy, dark sauce. The kidney taste was a bit overpowering, but the tender shoulder had a bright, strong flavor.

Service was impressive for a place that was so busy. The server had a lot of tables to cover, but she never lost track of me. The entrée took about 45 minutes to come out, but she comped a glass of wine and a serving of olives & almonds as partial recompense. I wasn’t in any hurry, and didn’t mind.

The menu is reprinted daily and changes frequently: there were five specials written on the board, including that crépinette. Perhaps I was one of the first to try it, which could explain the long delay. There probably aren’t many customers demanding lamb kidney. I might not order it again, but it wasn’t bad, and I give Bloomfield credit for venturing beyond the obvious.

Bloomfield has every right to be distracted: her seafood restaurant, The John Dory, originally scheduled for the spring, remains under construction, with a promised October opening very much in doubt. But Bloomfield was in the Spotted Pig on Friday night, running the kitchen as she’s done for the last five years. It is very much a contradiction, with the food a level or two above the pub surroundings in which it is served.

The Spotted Pig (314 W. 11th Street at Greenwich Street, West Village)

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

The Café at Country

 

Note: Country closed in summer 2010. Its replacement is Millesime, under chef Laurent Manrique.

*

The Greek tragedy that is Country continues. Geoffrey Zakarian ran his top-tier three-star restaurant into the ground. The gorgeous upstairs dining room is now closed indefinitely, supposedly to re-open as Country Steak sometime next year. Don’t all yawn at once. The downstairs café is now in the hands of Blake Joyal, who replaced Willis Loughhead, who replaced Doug Psaltis.

A friend was staying in the area, and I was curious to see what has become of the café, so I made a reservation. I wasn’t pleased with the café the first time I visited, but that was nearly three years ago, and Country was a very different place. Today, it feels like a hotel lounge—which it basically is. “A lot’s changed,” said a sullen bartender. He didn’t sound pleased.

I was surprised to find that the menu is reprinted daily, which suggests that Chef Joyal isn’t just phoning it in. The menu might not be adventurous, but at least it isn’t cast in stone. There are nine appetizers ($11–18), ten entrées ($18–39) and five sides ($8–9): a reasonable compass that a good kitchen should be able to manage. Except for the dry-aged sirloin ($39), entrées are all in the mid-twenties or lower.

 

The Café at Country was never the most comfortable place to eat, but it is not doing much business, so you’ll get a good table. The bartender clearly preferred to be somewhere else, but at the table our server was friendly and efficient. A warm mixed bean salad ($14; above left) was respectable, but I didn’t detect much of the cured pork belly that was supposed to be lurking under those green leaves. Brased shortribs ($26; above right) were acceptable, but not as tender as they should be. I didn’t note my companions’ entrées, but both of them raved about an onion soup appetizer ($14).

As of now, the Café at Country is serving above-average hotel food, but it’s a far cry from what this wonderful restaurant was once capable of.

The Café at Country (90 Madison Avenue at 29th Street, Gramercy/Flatiron)

Food: Satisfactory
Service: Average
Ambiance: Hotel Lobby
Overall: Satisfactory

Archipelago

Note: Archipelago closed in December 2008 after about two months in business. Either the space or the food was doomed. Take your pick. The owners claimed they would be re-opening with “an exciting new menu,” but that idea was short-lived.

*

I’m not a believer in “cursed” restaurant spaces, but the new restaurant Archipelago threatens to challenge that view. It occupies the space that was formerly home to the doomed Dani, a pretty good Italian place that couldn’t attract diners to the cavernous gloom of Hudson Square, the dead patch of land west of Varick Street between Houston and Canal Streets. It’s not that a serious restaurant couldn’t draw people to this neighborhood. But it would need to be serving “destination cuisine” — the kind of food people go out of their way for.

Archipelago tries to make the case for Japanese–French fusion cuisine, but it fails. The chef here is Hisanobu Osaka, who was the sous chef at Morimoto. With such a pedigree, who’d have thought the food would be so awful? Maybe we just missed the boat, but this was the most mediocre meal we’ve had in quite some time—a real disaster at the price. Can an Eater Deathwatch be far off?

The menu is divided into three sections, not counting dessert: starters ($12–18), mains ($20–32) and shokuji—rice dishes—to conclude ($10). The server advised ordering one of each. This is wise, in that the mains are practically appetizer-sized; but also unwise, as you’ll probably be wishing you were somewhere else by the time the last course arrives.

Many of the items have French-sounding names but Japanese-sounding ingredients, such as Côte de Boeuf with Yuzu Foam or Carré d’Agneau with Japanese eggplant. Despite occasional nods to France, the “feel” of the restaurant is mostly Japanese, and a majority of the patrons seemed to be Asians.

 

Cannelloni ($14; above left) sounded better than it turned out. Cold crabmeat was plated lazily between two cold sheets of cauliflower pasta, with a bland avocado purée on the side and a bizarre crabmeat mini-sandwich at the top of the plate. Crevettes et Canard ($13; above right) offered poached shrimp and smoked duck, both of which tasted like they’d been in the fridge for a week.

 

A dish called Sake ($20; above left) is pan-seared salmon with a tasty tomato and lemon confit under the skin. This was the only dish we had all evening that we liked. It was actually a respectable hunk of fish, skillfully prepared, albeit looking a little lonely on the plate. Côte de Boeuf ($32; above right) may look impressive with yuzu foam on the top, but under the foam were just a few wan slices of cold beef that tasted like the London Broil they serve at a Bar Mitzvah.

 

Risotto ($10: above left) was alleged to contain toro, but it tasted merely like slightly over-cooked rice. But that was a gourmet experience compared with Oshi Zushi, or “pressed sushi” ($10; above right), which seemed to be a salmon paste slathered onto hunks of chalky rice.

At least the sake was comparatively inexpensive. Bottles of Tamano Hikiri were $30 apiece, and after two of them the food here almost seemed decent. I say “almost.” Dinner for two was $172 including tax, but before tip.

The space has been lightly redone since the Dani days. It is rather sterile and charmless. The restaurant was only about 3/4 full at prime time on a Saturday evening, which does not bode well for its success. Despite the rather low degree of difficulty in the dishes we tried, the food took a long time to come out. It wasn’t worth the wait.

Archipelago (333 Hudson Street between Charlton & Vandam Streets, Hudson Square)

Food: Mediocre
Service: Friendly but too slow
Ambiance: Dull
Overall: Mediocre

The Marshall Stack

 

The Marshall Stack is a sophisticated Lower East Side bar, named for a brand of guitar amplifier. Hung behind the bar is a photo of The Who’s Keith Townshend smashing his guitar on a Marshall Stack. The barely-labeled space is unfancy, but the bartender knows his beers. I counted 42 in all, including 20 on tap. There’s even a Sixpoint Craft Obama ale, made in Brooklyn, NY. Who knew there was an Obama tribute beer?

I was there early, before the kitchen staff arrived, so I didn’t sample any of the food. I was headed off to dinner anyway. But the Marshall Stack is certainly worth another visit.

The Marshall Stack (66 Rivington Street at Allen Street, Lower East Side)

Little Giant

 

Note: Little Giant closed at the end of 2011.

*

Little Giant is a happy comfort-food place. It was an instant sensation when it opened four years ago on the Lower East Side, and it has more-or-less stayed that way. I’ve been meaning to visit for a long time, but whenever I called for a reservation it always seemed to be full. Frank Bruni awarded one star in early 2005, in a mostly favorable review that was as much about the owners’ iPod playlist as it was about the food. One star would be a compliment, if Bruni hadn’t awarded two stars to so many uninspiring places.

The restaurant has a corner lot in an early 1900s tenemant building. The owners, Julie Taras Wallach and Tasha Garcia Gibson, did the renovation themselves. It has an understated homespun charm. There are 35 seats in the dining room, 5 at the bar. Space is always at a premium in these small spaces not originally designed as restaurants. But Little Giant seems less self-consciously crowded than other restaurants of its ilk, like the Little Owl and Prune. It wears the space well.

The owners accurately describe their cuisine as “refined comfort food,” using the usual modern buzzwords: “Seasonal American” and “creatively celebrates local farmers and small, artisanal producers.” Oh, and “We bicycle to greenmarkets.” It may sound a little hackneyed, but they do live up to it.

The menu features half-a-dozen appetizers ($7–14) and an equal number of entrées ($17–27). Side dishes are $4–8. I was tempted by the “world-famous” buttermilk-chive biscuit with honey butter ($4), but the free bread service, with soft, rich butter on the side, offered all the carbs I needed.

 

I loved a simple salid of warm figs, nuts and prosciutto ($15; above left). Chicken liver mousse ($13; above right) was soft and creamy, the liver taste balanced by other ingredients—probably about a half-pound of butter.

 

“Swine of the Week” ($25; above left) is a recurring menu item: always pork, but the preparation varies. The offering when we visited was braised pork butt off the bone with barbecue sauce, baked beans and cole slaw. I found this dish successful (though it is hard for braised pork to fail), but my girlfriend found it a bit dry. We agreed that the cole slaw was too bitter. A terrific side dish of mac & cheese ($7; above right) was enormous. It could have been dinner all by itself. It was the best mac & cheese I’ve tasted in a long time, with a crisp crust and gooey cheddar filling.

Frank Bruni’s review complained about long waits for food, but that didn’t happen to us. However, our reservation was at 6:30 p.m., which is a very early hour in this neighborhood. Most of the tables were empty when we arrived, but most were full (as was the bar) by the time we left, at around 8:00.

The owners announced recently that they’ve signed a lease in Chelsea at Ninth Avenue and 19th Street, for a space that is double the size. The new restaurant, planned for an early 2009 opening, will be called the Tipsy Parson and will feature southern-style comfort food. They’ll have a twofold challenge. The first is to ensure that their charming concept maintains its allure when it plays on a bigger stage. And the second is to ensure that Little Giant doesn’t lose its edge once it is no longer the owners’ only property.

Little Giant (85 Orchard Street at Broome Street, Lower East Side)

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

Masa

For almost five years, I’ve been wondering…watching…waiting. Masa was there, beckoning, but I knew the expense was staggering—more than most Americans pay for rent. Last week, finally, I decided it was time.

The restaurant is named for Masa Takayama, who five years ago closed his famed Los Angeles sushi temple, Ginza Sushiko, and joined Thomas Keller to anchor the Time-Warner Center’s “Restaurant Collection.” Masa and Keller’s Per Se lived up to the hype, with eight New York Times stars and five Michelin stars between them. Other restauranteurs at the venue weren’t so lucky (Jean-Georges Vongerichten, Gray Kunz), or failed to open at all (Charlie Trotter).

The format here is a three-hour omakase—meaning you’re in the chef’s hands. The cost? It was $300 when Amanda Hesser reviewed it for the Times in 2004, had risen to $350 six months later, when Frank Bruni awarded four stars, and is now $450—assuming you don’t order the Kobe beef, which carries a $100 supplement (we took a pass). Even with a modest alcohol order, dinner for two, including the automatic 20% service charge, was $1,285, including tax.

The cost of high-end sushi is surreal. The most exclusive imported fish is expensive no matter where you have it. The omakase at Kurumazushi, which I reviewed two weeks ago, was about the same price, but a lot of the items seemed similar to one another. What is astonishing at Masa is the sheer variety. At Kurumazushi, though, we were served massive chunks of fatty tuna. Masa slices the rare fish into thin slivers.

There are just 26 seats—10 at the sushi bar (made from a single slab of hinoki wood) and 16 at the tables. We chose the bar—always a better experience at a sushi restaurant—and were fortunate enough to be at Chef Takayama’s station. There were two other sushi chefs at the counter; and behind them, two more preparing hot dishes on a grill.

When we arrived, Chef Takayama was in the midst of dismembering a hunk of toro that must have weighed thirty pounds. With a knife sharp enough to shave a mosquito, he patiently peeled apart layer after layer of flesh, separated by thin cartilage membranes. The amount of waste was considerable, though the parts not fit to be served as sushi disappeared into the kitchen, aparently to be used for some other purpose.

Masa is camera-shy, and we didn’t want to encumber our meal with note-taking. As we reconstructed the meal afterwards, we counted at least 25 items, and it may even have been a bit more than that. There were about a half-dozen appetizers, followed by wave upon wave of sushi.

The appetizers were all wonderful, but perhaps the most startling was cold sea bass with chrysanthemum—we actually ate the flower along with the fish. Another winner was a diced fish still in its own skin, with vegetables and spices: “Eat it all,” Takayama advised. The other appetizers included a crab salad, toro with caviar, truffle risotto with sea urchin, and miso soup.

A list of the sushi courses is practicaly a Who’s Who of the sea: toro, fluke, mackerel, clam, octopus, scallop, eel, shrimp, sea urchin, squid, herring—and for several of these, more than one kind. Most of the time, Takayama molds a small wedge of rice, applies a dab of wasabi, lays a slice of fish on top, paints it with soy sauce, then places it on your plate, or if it is too delicate, hands it to you directly.

Occasionally, he varies that pattern. One piece came wrapped in a cucumber skin, another in a shiso leaf. One course was a shitake mushroom; another was white truffle. A few items came from the hot station: the chef seared one piece of fish with a hot poker before serving it. Late in the meal, Takayama produced a carcass that looked like it could be a baby lamb’s rib cage. He scraped off some meat and served it to us: “Tuna bone,” he said.

Dessert was a simple bowl of grapefruit granité, which seemed like an anti-climax to the sushi theatrics.

Wine (nearly all white) is served by the bottle, sake by the carafe. Compared to the price of the food, it was pretty reasonable. Three different sakes—admittedly, some of the lower priced ones—were only $101 total, which isn’t bad when the food was $900.

The service team operates quietly and efficiently, setting and clearing so smoothly that you almost don’t realize they’re there. Serving pieces (different for each course) are practically works of art in themselves.

Masa is clearly not a populist experience. At its extravagant price, it clearly cannot be. Yet, even in these tough economic times the restaurant appeared to be doing strong business—though it was not full. We could never be regulars here, but for one night we were happy to invest in Masa’s one-of-a-kind splendor. I can’t compare it to anything in Japan, but here in New York, Masa is without peer.

Masa (Time-Warner Center, 10 Columbus Circle, 4th floor)

Cuisine: Japanese/sushi, as fancy and pricy as they come
Service: So quiet and efficient, you practically don’t realize they’re there
Ambiance: A serene oasis of calm

Rating: ★★★★

Matsugen

Note: Matsugen closed in March 2011, after failing consistently to draw crowds. Click here for a more recent review.

*

Last week, a colleague invited me to Matsugen, which I reviewed previously in July. Since then, Matsugen received three stars from Frank Bruni, a judgment that seemed then, and still seems, overly generous.

Mind you, Matsugen is a very good restaurant. As Bruni notes, it doesn’t pander to Western sensibilities—unlike some of Jean-Georges Vongerichten’s other Asian restaurants. But the awful ambiance and an uneven menu are serious drawbacks. My colleague, who has sampled a good cross-section of New York’s better restaurants, said, “I’m finding it hard to believe this got three stars.”

We planned to share two or three appetizers and then finish with soba. One of our choices was the Crab and Japanese Mushroom with Rice in an earthenware pot. The server warned that this is made from scratch and would take 45 minutes. She advised us to order a plate of mixed pickles as a stop-gap. Despite her advice, the pickles came first—and it was altogether too much food. Just like gullible tourists, we had been “upsold.”

Anyhow, the plate of mixed pickles (above left) was very good, but entirely unnecessary. My colleague was eager to try the pork belly (above right), which had a faint barbecue taste. It was great, but even for two people it was a very large portion, given that pork belly is almost pure fat.

Salmon belly (above left) is a recent addition to the menu. Despite the name, the dish seemed to be indistinguishable from any other grilled salmon you’ve ever tasted, but it was a bit too greasy. Crabs, mushrooms and rice in an earthenware pot (above right) had a strong, earthy flavor, though after a 45-minute wait I expected more of a payoff.

These are all large dishes, and we were full at this point. We had over-ordered.

But soba was coming. We probably would have enjoyed it more if we had ordered half the number of appetizers. I had the Duck Soup with Inaka noodles (above left). These were the coarsest noodles available, the same as I had last time. Cold noodles with warm duck soup didn’t float my boat; your mileage may vary. The duck seemed over-cooked and flavorless.

I believe my colleage had the Kitchen Sink soba—no, they don’t really call it that—but it was chock full of just about every ingredient they offer, with a fried egg on top. He said it was good, but he left an awful lot of it unfinished, citing a full stomach.

I left Matsugen less impressed than last time. I have to add that the menu is a long one, and I am sure there are many gems here. But even with the servers’ patient explanations, it is a lot to navigate, and the format lends itself to over-ordering.

Matsugen (241 Church Street between Leonard & Worth Streets, TriBeCa)

Food: **
Service: *½
Ambiance: Not much
Overall: *½

Allegretti

 

Note: Allegretti “closed for renovations” in summer 2010—and never re-opened.

The fall slate of restaurant openings is understandably timid. With the economy in the tank, restauranteurs are falling back on familiar formulae, and the trappings of fine dining have fallen by the wayside. How refreshing it is, then, to come across Allegretti, a new restaurant that—gasp!—has white tablecloths, servers who wear ties, an elegant atmosphere, and entrées that threaten (but don’t yet touch) the $40 mark. Has anyone told them we’re in a recession?

The chef here is Alain Allegretti, who trained under Alain Ducasse and worked at Le Cirque 2000 and Atelier. He hails from Nice, but the culinary sensibility is Italian. Prices are on the high side, with appetizers $12–20, soups $10–11, pastas $16–20, entrées $25–38 (most in the $30s), and side dishes $6–8. Fortunately, Allegretti is a startlingly good restaurant—one that I hope will be successful enough to encourage others to take similar chances. We need more restaurants like this.

The amuse-bouche was a lentil soup that was a bit too salty. Three warm breads were offered. We both chose the olive bread, which was studded with olives and came with a very yellow soft butter.

 

I loved the Perugina Sausage ($14; above left), which had a nice tangy taste, complemented by sweet pepers and an onion ragôut. My girlfriend was rapturous over the Heirloom Tomatoes ($19; above right), with a soft lump of burrata cheese.

 

Both entrées were served with a gravy applied tableside. The menu didn’t specify how the skin was treated on Duck Magret ($34; above left), but it seemed to be a kind of panko crust. The portion was ample, and the duck beautifully prepared. My girlfriend found Noix of Colorado Lamb ($32; above right) a tad too salty, but the dish was well conceived, with spinach ricotta gnocchi, prosciutto, fava beans, tomato confit, and fennel gratiné.

There was a slightly heavy hand with the salt shaker, but we think every dish here could be a winner (several are already) after the kitchen settles down.

Servers here were a bit over-eager: it seemed that hardly thirty seconds after the dessert menus were deposited, someone was back to ask us what we wanted. It was one of several times when we wished they’d just let us relax. (The restaurant, though doing well, was not full, so I don’t think they were trying to rush us out the door.) However, I prefer attentive service to the alternative, and I assume they’ll get more polished with time.

On the whole, Allegretti strikes us as the most exciting fine dining restaurant to have opened in quite some time. In an era when most restaurants are stripping away the trappings of good service, Allegretti feels like a breath of fresh air.

Allegretti (46 W. 22nd Street between Fifth & Sixth Avenues, Chelsea)

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