You could hardly blame owner Jodi Richard if she’d given up after Compose quickly failed in 2010–11.
The concept was always a tough sell: a foraged modernist $120 prix fixe-only tasting menu served around a 12-seat dining counter, served by a chef with impeccable credentials but no record of success.
Richard didn’t give up. She lured Matthew Lightner to New York, chef of the acclaimed Portland restaurant Castagna, closed for a renovation that stretched to nearly six months, and re-opened as Atera.
It had to have been a risk for Lightner: this city sometimes chews up and spits out chefs imported from elsewhere. Just ask Miguel Sanchez Romera.
After a deeply enjoyable lunch at Per Se recently, I started thinking about what it means to be a four-star restaurant.
I
Most of us can’t afford a Rolls Royce, a Jaguar, or a Maserati. Yet, most of us respect those cars. They captivate us. If offered a free ride in a Rolls, wouldn’t we all jump at the chance?
Not so with four-star restaurants. There’s a large sub-culture that finds these bastions of luxury actively worse — who wouldn’t care to visit them, even if they were free, and who certainly don’t find the stratospheric sticker prices remotely worthwhile.
Luxury restaurants coddle you. Some diners are stubbornly resistant to coddling. It’s not just that they’re willing to pay less, in exchange for the same food with worse service. They actually prefer it that way. Frank Bruni captured the ethos of the new generation in his first review of Momofuku Ssäm Bar:
Ssam Bar answers the desires of a generation of savvy, adventurous diners with little appetite for starchy rituals and stratospheric prices.
They want great food, but they want it to feel more accessible, less effete.
These comments captured the false dichotomy. If you don’t join them, you’re un-savvy and effete. Good service is a “starchy ritual,” a religious ceremony repeated endlessly for no logical purpose.
Whip me with a wet noodle, if you must. I suppose I deserve some kind of penance for the following confession: Until recently, I had never been to Momofuku Noodle Bar.
Blame it on the lines, which at dinner times often snake down First Avenue. I was eager to visit, but not eager enough to go that far out of my way, and then wait for a bar stool. (Reservations aren’t taken, except for the large-format chicken meal, which feeds 4–8 people. I saw an order go out while I was there: four people would need to be awfully hungry to finish it.)
I rectified this shocking omission in my culinary travels on a recent Friday afternoon, when I dropped in for a late lunch at about 3:30pm. There was still plenty of business, given the oddness of the hour, but it was delightfully uncrowded. If it were always like this, I might come more often. But if it were always like this, it wouldn’t be Noodle Bar.
The Momofuku story is so well known that it hardly needs re-telling. After graduating from the French Culinary Institute, David Chang worked his way through the fine-dining kitchens of Jean-Georges Vongerichten (Mercer Kitchen), Tom Colicchio (Craft), and Daniel Boulud (Café Boulud). Then, he left fine dining and opened a noodle shop.
The original Momofuku Noodle Bar, which opened in 2004 with 27 seats, was such a hit that Chang followed it up with Momofuku Ssäm Bar in 2006. After another two years, Noodle Bar moved into its present 65-seat space down the street. Momofuku Ko, Chang’s Michelin two-star spot, moved into the old Noodle Bar. The empire now includes four restaurants, a chain of dessert shops, and a cocktail bar in New York; outposts in Toronto and Sydney; and a culinary lab.
The Musket Room opened in NoLIta in June 2013, after a build-out that took a year, and required an infusion of Kickstarter funding to pull over the finish line. I’d say the wait was worth it.
When we last saw this space, it was Elizabeth, a train wreck of a restaurant that endured a series of chef shuffles, and finally closed in early 2011. Its one redeeming feature was a lovely back garden with a retractable roof that annoyed the neighbors. To get community board approval, the chef had to agree not to use it. Musket Room has turned out so beautifully that it hardly matters.
Chef–Owner Matt Lambert came out of the stable of restaurants owned by the design firm AvroKO (Public, Saxon + Parole, and the now-closed Double Crown). He learned his lessons well. Musket Room feels justlike an AvroKO spot, with its exposed bulbs, low lighting, reclaimed wood, and whitewashed brick/plaster walls. Seating is stylish and comfortable. A stately indoor cherry tree (or what looks like one) anchors the bar, which has cute little study lights plugged in every few feet.
Those design elements have been repeated in an endless number of restaurants, but I don’t remember very many that got them so right. The space strikes the right balance between casual and upscale. The sound track is soft rock, played at an unobtrusive volume. The space feels immediately comfortable.
The restaurant is named for the Musket Wars, a 35-year conflict fought 200 years ago between the Māori tribes of New Zealand, the chef’s homeland. A big musket hangs over the bar, and there are little bits of musket imagery throughout the restaurant.
I remember when Hell’s Kitchen was home to vagrants, prostitutes, car dealerships, strip clubs, and idling buses. No more. The car dealers remain (nowhere else to go), but the seedy side of Hell’s Kitchen is history.
Walk the neighborhod now, and you find spanking-new Off-Broadway theaters, upscale apartment towers, boutique hotels, and trendy bars. There’s something new on almost every block. A restaurant boom promised in the Post two years ago hasn’t quite materialized. It’s getting better, but it’s not there yet.
Print Restaurant opened three years ago in the Ink48 Hotel, at Hell’s Kitchen’s most remote address, 48th Street and Eleventh Avenue. There’s nothing wrong with the neighborhood any more, but it’s a loooong hike from the subway.
You can guess the theme here, in this renovated printing plant. The rooftop lounge/bar is called Press, which I visited a while back. You’ll quickly forget the drinks, but the view is one of the city’s best. Even the NYT’s Frank Bruni loved it.
It’s pretty clear that Print was meant to be more than just a hotel cafeteria. Early publicity mentioned chef Charles Rodriguez’s past work with Thomas Keller and Charlie Trotter—maybe just a stage, but still. Starchitect David Rockwell, who never met a dark wood he didn’t like, designed the dining room.
But Print received scant critical attention: a perfunctory Dining Brief from Sam Sifton in The Times, and a “very good” from Serious Eats’ Ed Levine, each in 2010. Both mentioned the car dealerships, and little else in the neighborhood, which shows how much has changed in three years.
In his heyday, the tenor Luciano Pavarotti could probably have recited the telephone directory in a monotone, and people would have paid to hear it. The chef Michael White is in a similar enviable position: anything he opens is instantly popular, for no other reason than his association with it.
White’s New York career began at Fiamma, where over a decade ago he earned three stars, working for Stephen Hanson of all people. His career really took off when he left in 2007, taking over two upscale Italian places (both now closed) in partnership with Chris Cannon. After an intervening soap opera, he finally wound up with an empire called Altamarea Group, which includes ten restaurants in two U.S. states and on three continents, including five in New York City alone.
That track record guarantees attention, but not acclaim. His pizza place, Nicoletta, got terrible reviews; it’s still open, but gets almost no press. There are no such worries at Costata, his Italian steakhouse in the former Fiamma space. Most of the pro critics haven’t filed yet, but I believe they’ll agree: it’s a hit.
The Butterfly features cocktails by renowned mixologist Eben Freeman and cuisine by Michelin-starred Chef Michael White in a cozy, mid-century style space…
The distinct impression gained, is that this is mainly a cocktail spot, and by the way, you can nosh there too.
White and Freeman have gradually pivoted away from the original concept, an Olde Wisconsin supper club, and an homage to White’s home state. There actually is a “Butterfly Club” in Beloit, Wisconsin, where White once worked. Perhaps he remembers it fondly, but I doubt anyone else around here does.
The décor offers a re-imagining of “retro Wisconsin,” though you quickly forget about it. Waitresses wear old-school black dresses with blue lace trim. Bartenders (including Freeman himself) wear short-sleeve white shirts with thin plaid ties, tie clips, and pocket protectors. They probably decided all of this before the decision to dial down the Wisconsin theme.
Most of the emphasis now is on the cocktails. A couple of weeks ago, White told The Times, “Butterfly isn’t really a Wisconsin restaurant. It’s a New York place to have great cocktails — and something nice to eat.”
Ahmass Fakahany, the main investor in Michael White’s restaurants, added, “Michael and I wanted to showcase the talent of Eben Freeman.”
Freeman built a reputation for avant-garde cocktails at WD~50 and Tailor. The list here is fairly tame by comparison: most of the ten house cocktails have recognizable names, although Freeman tweaks them a bit.
For instance, his Highball ($14; above left) isn’t just any bourbon and soda, but Michter’s Rye and Coca-Cola smoked with alder and cherry woods. His Boiler Maker ($16; below right) is not just any beer and whiskey, but a house-made raisin shandy and Dewar’s infused with pumpernickel raisin bread and carraway seeds.
Freeman told The Times that the cocktail offerings will expand as the restaurant gets its sea legs. The bar certainly has all of Freeman’s toys: we’re not in Wisconsin any more. If you’d prefer to drink wine, then I wouldn’t bother: the list is perfunctory.
About half the menu features comfort-food classics that may well have been popular in 1950s Wisconsin, like a fish sandwich, a patty melt, and shrimp cocktail. Others are just generically popular items that you could find anywhere: a strip steak, fried chicken, a caesar salad.
White elevates these classics above their usual mundane selves. That patty melt is not just any patty: it’s dry-aged beef. That chicken isn’t just any chicken: it’s organic chicken from Bell & Evans.
Most of the menu is inexpensive, by Michael White standards. Hors d’oeuvres are $8–16, salads $11–14, sandwiches $15–17, entrées $19–27, side dishes $5–8, desserts $9–10. The whole menu fits on one page, and the smaller plates dominate: a dozen hors d’oeuvres and salads, against just six sandwiches and entrées.
A $17 patty melt may seem dear, but early reports are rapturous, and it’s in line with many of the city’s high-end burgers. If you believe that no one should ever pay $17 for a burger, you shouldn’t eat here.
I was sorely tempted to try it, but an aged prime patty melt is not so much cooked as curated. I wanted to try the more unusual items, so I ordered four of the hors d’oeuvres.
You might start with the Reuben Croquettes ($9; above left), little fried balls of corned beef (not enough of it) and sauerkraut with thousand island dipping sauce. Zucchini Pancakes ($13; above right) are a terrific snack—little bursts of flavor, with crème fraîche, shallots, dill, and trout roe. I don’t think there’s much of Wisconsin in this dish.
Pork Rinds ($8; above left) are flecked with rosemary and pepper, one of the better renditions of this dish that I’ve encountered, but for a solo diner they’re too much of a good thing. The Bratwurst Sliders ($13; above right) offer plump little house-made sausages, slit lengthwise, with spicy mustard and sweet peppers on potato rolls.
Service was friendly and polished, as it has been at all the White places I’ve visited: silverware was replaced after every course, plates delivered and cleared promptly. I dropped in quite early in the evening, with customers only just beginning to wander in, but I suspect they’ll be able to cope with the volume when the place is full.
Any restaurant from these gentlemen is going to attract a crowd, at first. I do think they’ll have to expand the menu pretty soon, if they want to attract repeat customers. I work near here, so I could easily imagine dropping by the Butterfly from time to time. The food isn’t destination material; the cocktails could be, once Freeman brings out more of his repertoire.
The Butterfly (225 W. Broadway at White Street, TriBeCa)
Food: Retro Wisconsin comfort food, liberally interpreted Service: First-rate for such a casual place Ambiance: Retro Wisconsin too, but you’re not really going to notice
After the jump, you’ll find the list of all New York City restaurants currently open, that: (1) Have now, or have ever had, at least one Michelin star; or, (2) Have now, or have ever had, three or four New York Times stars.
For both Michelin and The Times, the list shows the maximum number of stars it has ever had (“Max”), and the current number of stars it has (“Curr.”). In the last two columns, you’ll find the name of the last Times critic who reviewed the restaurant and the date of the review. Click the link on the date to read the review itself.
The two rating systems are correlated. Most of the Michelin 1-star restaurants have two or three Times stars. Most of the Michelin 2-star restaurants have three Times stars. Most of the Michelin 3-star restaurants have four Times stars.
Given this correlation, you can find restaurants where the two systems disagree. For instance, Babbo has three Times stars but zero from Michelin. Danny Brown in Queens has a star from Michelin but has never even been reviewed in The Times.
Last year, the brilliant chefs Fredrik Bersilius and Richard Kuo set the fooderati atwitter with their Scandanavian pop-up, Frej.
After it closed suddenly, the chefs went their separate ways. Bersilius re-opened in the same Williamsburg space, this time with a serious full-time restaurant called Aska. It’s quiet, austere, verging on formal, and still Scandanavian. It could get a Micheln star.
Kuo went rock ’n’ roll, with Pearl & Ash on the suddenly-hip Bowery. It’s loud, brash, casual, mostly walk-ins, pan-Asian-themed small plates. Criticsloveit. Well, almost all.
They’re on OpenTable, but the bulk of the seats are first-come, first-served. The dining room is beyond 100 percent occupancy. They’re squeezing folks into every square inch that the law allows.
On a Wednesday evening, we arrived early for our reservation, with no tables vacant and two-deep at the bar. The host sent us next door to cool our heels, a dive where cocktails are something like $8 each. When our party of four was finally seated, it was at a half-communal table with about as much legroom as the coach cabin on a budget airline.
Sommelier Patrick Capiello landed here as wine director and partner, after Gilt closed late last year. A greater contrast between the two restaurants couldn’t be imagined. Nevertheless, he’s built a list that his former uptown customers would recognize, even if they’re unlikely to visit. It’s studded with trophy Burgundies and Bordeaux that most three-star restaurants would drool over.
The risky gambit worked. The economy has improved, and if you’re looking for proof, you might as well start here. I don’t know who would order 1955 Château Palmer Margaux 3ème cru with this food, but apparently someone does. That’ll set you back a cool $1,000, and it’s not even the most expensive bottle.
I’m not in that league, and if I were I’d choose to drink it elsewhere.
But you can easily do business for under $60 a bottle, and even as low as the mid $30s. I always smile when I see wines from the Jura, and under-appreciated region many restaurants don’t stock. At Pearl & Ash, there are 19 whites and a dozen reds from there. The 2008 Philippe Bornard “Ploussard” (above right) from Arbois Pupillin, the Jura’s winemaking capital, was just $52. Served chilled, it tasted like a cross between red and rosé, well suited to the eclectic menu here.
The menu offers twenty items ($3–16) in six categories: raw, small, fish, meat, vegetables, sweet. If you want bread, it’s extra: $3. The seven meat and fish items can be super-sized and ordered as entrées ($24–28), in which case Pearl & Ash becomes a traditional three-course restaurant.
We went all-in for sharing. Typical of such places, it was tough to guess exactly how much food we needed, or which plates would be readily divisible, but we got it about right. The kitchen did a reasonably good job of timing and sequencing (good!) but plates and silverware weren’t replaced between courses (not so much).
Each item on the menu is a short list of three or four ingredients in lower case, without adjectives or verbs. I’ve quoted these descriptions below, to give a better idea of what’s confronting you when you order. (The party next to us offered several suggestions, which turned out to be excellent.)
We loved the hot, musky smoke of “octopus, sunflower seed, shiso” ($13; above left). But it also meant that bland “tea cured salmon, goat cheese, tamarind, seaweed” ($10; above right) barely registered.
We placed a double order of “pork meatballs, shiitake, bonito” ($11 a pair; above left). The dish seemed under-sauced: the rich flavor of the meatballs needed some extra kick. The “lamb belly & heart, kohlrabi, hazelnut” ($26; above right) tasted mostly of fat.
The hit of the evening was “quail, almond, pomegranate, chicken skin” ($28; above left), a technically impressive preparation of deboned quail wrapped and deep-fried chicken skin. I also loved the flavor of smoke (much like the octopus) in “skate, chermoula, cauliflower, leek” ($14; above right).
If you’re up for a side dish, you won’t go wrong with “potatoes, porcini mayo, chorizo” ($8; below left), served crisp with just the right amount of salt.
There are just two desserts, and both are a bit odd. The “coffee parfait & cake” ($7; above right) is better than it sounds, with only the slightest hint of coffee.
But the “fernet-branca ice cream sandwich” ($6; above) is more interesting than good. Fernet-branca is a digestivo invented in the 1800s as a stomach medicine: pepto bismol with alcohol. A member of our party who’d tried it straight, said that it’s barely tolerable to drink. In ice cream it’s acceptable, but nothing I’d rush back for.
The dining room is a long, narrow room with an open kitchen at the back. The walls seem to amplify sound, as the speakers go thump, thump, thump. The wall opposite the bar is an attention-stealer, a lattice of differently-sized blonde-wood cubby holes filled with candles and nick-nacks.
The friendly, eager staff do their best to keep up, but there are too many of us, not enough of them, and too little space for everyone. The food (at its best) is good, and the wine list is great. As long as they’re served in this room, I won’t be rushing back to try either one.
Pearl & Ash (220 Bowery between Prince & Spring Streets, NoLIta)
Food: An eclectic selection of vaguely pan-Asian small plates Service: Friendly and eager, but struggling to keep up Ambiance: A loud, narrow room, with an attractive modern design
I never thought I’d see the day, when French restaurants were opening in New York at such a pace that I cannot visit them all. But that’s the moment we’re in, and I am a happy camper.
The menu is overtly French, but the décor is all downtown New York. Picture windows on two sides look out on Kenmare Street, where shops, bars, and clubs are sprouting up like spring flowers. Unlike the last time I was here, the view is actually worth looking at.
The entrance is down a few steps. There’s a small lounge area, with bench seating and low stools. In the dining area, the tables and chairs are bare-bones. Around the room, there’s a few votive candles and a few bouquets, offsetting an austere slate grey ceiling and cement columns.
Monday, August 12, 2013 at 03:27PM 
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