Café China

 

When you think about Chinese cuisine in Manhattan, excluding take-out, two pictures come to mind. The first is the expensive high-end places like Chin Chin, Shun Lee, and Mr. Chow, which get practically no love from the food community. Just mention them on Chowhound and wait for the sparks to fly. At the other extreme are the respected authentic places like Szechuan Gourmet and Oriental Garden, where décor is bare-bones or non-existent, the service hurried and even discombobulated.

Café China, which opened in Murray Hill in early September, looks like an attempt to bridge that gap. No one would call it ultra-fancy, but the narrow, deep space is soothing to look at: decked out in 1930s charm with antique chandeliers and sconces; comfortable banquettes and diner chairs; dark wood tables mostly without tablecloths; old Shanghai posters on the walls, painted powder blue; and understated Chinoiserie dappled around the room.

There are lacquer chopsticks (replaced after every course), but paper napkins; reservations are accepted. You could have a romantic meal or a business dinner here, without paying the extortionate prices (for often forgettable food) of a place like China Grill or Philippe. Heck, even the website feels comfortable.

It’s run by a husband-and-wife team from China, Xian Zhang and Yiming Wang, with a classically-trained Sichuan chef, Xiaofeng Liao, in the kitchen.

The menu doesn’t stint on heat, if you want it, and you’re welcome to test your stomach with the likes of beef tendon, diced rabbit, jellyfish, duck blood, “salivating” frog, and freshwater eel. Traditional take-out staples, like Double Cooked Pork and Kung Pao Chicken, are barely more than footnotes. Orange-Flavored Beef and General Tso’s Chicken are nowhere to be found.

It’s not a short menu, but it doesn’t extend to hundreds of items, as these places sometimes do. Most appetizers are less than $10. Entrées top out at $25, but there are many less than $20.

The two dishes I tried were in retrospect too similar, both swimming in a pool of hot bright-orange chili oil, but that’s my fault, not the restaurant’s. Both would probably have been better to share, but I was there alone.

Spicy Beef Tendon ($9; above left) with peppercorn and chili peppers was satisfying and sinus-clearing. The sheets of tendon had the consistency of taffy. Whole Tilapia in Spicy Miso Sauce ($22) was a messy and unsubtle pleasure. The fish was soft and came off the bone easily.

After that, a refreshing bowl of Lychee Sorbet (left), to get that intense chili taste out of my mouth, was practically mandatory.

You wouldn’t mind lingering in this pleasant spot, and with the space nowhere near full on a Monday evening, they would be happy to have you. Alas, there’s no liquor license yet, so there is little incentive to hang around. I assume that’ll be rectified eventually.

There are folks on the food boards that practically live on places like this. I’ll let them decide, in due time, where Café China ranks in the city’s Chinese pantheon. I will certainly go back.

Café China (13 E. 37th St. between Fifth & Madison Avenues, Murray Hill)

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

Sam Bahri’s Steakhouse

Note: Sam Bahri’s steakhouse closed in February 2012. It never caught on. The space is now El Toro Blanco.

*

Sam Bahri’s Steakhouse opened two months ago on a lightly-trafficked stretch of lower Sixth Avenue that hasn’t been kind to restaurants. Next door, 10 Downing has been struggling for years to attract a following.

Naming a restaurant after the owner can be an earnest way of introducing oneself to the community, or it may signal a vanity project. On a recent weeknight, the staff were gracious and welcoming, but I was their only customer at around 6:30 p.m. I saw no signs of Mr. Bahri.

The restaurant claims to be serving “classic American dishes with a subtle French flair.” Only two items on the menu could claim to be plausibly French: Foie Gras au Torchon and Coquilles St. Jacques, both appetizers. That is hardly enough to establish Gallic bona fides, on a menu that is otherwise generically American.

Despite the steakhouse hook, there are about a dozen non-steak entrées, ranging from $25–45: things like chicken, salmon, duck breast, sesame crusted tuna, and beef short ribs. As none of these are at all original, the only claim the restaurant could hope to make is preparing them better than other establishments in its neighborhood and price range.

Perhaps it does. So far, there are handful “reviews” on sites like Yelp, OpenTable, and Menupages, almost all four or five stars out of five. That may be suspicious, or maybe Sam Bahri’s is that good.

My only evidence is the Cowboy Ribeye, which might be the best $40 dry-aged prime steak in town. It’s thick, earthy, and has a firm crust.

You’ll note I didn’t say best, only best for $40. This one’s pretty good, but others are better. You’ll also pay $5, $10, or even $20 more.

I’ll admit curiosity about the double-cut duck breast bacon, but the menu said it’s for two, and even at $12 I didn’t want to put it to waste. So that’ll be for another day, assuming Sam Bahri’s Steakhouse sticks around.

It’s a pretty, pleasant place, but the Village has plenty of those, and it’s not as if there aren’t other steakhouses clamoring for attention.

Sam Bahri’s Steakhouse (257 Sixth Ave. between Bleecker & Houston, West Village)

Bye, Sam!

The tenure of New York Times restaurant critic Sam Sifton has ended. As of Monday, he took over as national editor, a position he’d had his eye on for some time. His departure is not a surprise. When Sifton was announced in the job, he already had a foot out the door:

For the record, it is our expectation that this will not be the end of Sam’s career as an editor/manager/entrepreneur/mentor. He has run two departments exceptionally well, and nobody would be surprised to see him running something in the future.

The guy who picked Sifton, former executive editor Bill Keller (who was also responsible for picking Bruni), practically admitted that Sifton hadn’t even applied for the job:

In the weeks since the announcement that Frank Bruni would be hanging up his napkin, we’ve received numerous applications for the job of NYT restaurant critic. We narrowed the list, and then narrowed it some more. We had some really impressive candidates, writers who know their food and have interesting things to say about the way we eat.

Then we threw out the list and drafted Sam Sifton.

Restaurant criticism burns people out, but Sifton had one of the shortest tenures on record. The Eater.com timeline shows just two New York Times critics with shorter stays: John L. Hess for nine months in 1973–74, and Marian Burros for a year in 1983–84. Burros, however, was never billed as a permanent replacement, which leaves Sifton in the dubious company of the now-forgotten Hess.

Here’s hoping Sifton has more enthusiasm for editing than he did for reviewing. I don’t think dummies get to be national editor, but as a critic, he was vacuous, bored, and intellectually lazy. At least half the time, he was more interested in reviewing the guests than the food—more fascinated with their shoes, clothes, hairdos and gadgets, than with what they were eating.

Sifton was a man of simple pleasures, seldom interested in being challenged, seldom engaged thoughtfully on any culinary subject except fishing. His reviews were full of empty adjectives like “delicious,” “terrific,” and “good,” and laden with obscure references to second-rate fiction. He embraced mediocrity, and neither established nor recognized trends.

He didn’t even work very hard. Frank Bruni, may have had no experience reviewing restaurants, but he at least realized he had a lot to learn, and worked his tail off. Here’s a comparison of Bruni’s first two years to Sifton’s:

1. Starred Reviews. In his first two years, Bruni filed every Wednesday but two (and for those two, Julia Moskin filed in his place). In Sifton’s first two years, he skipped four Wednesdays (and no one replaced him).
2. Critic’s Notebook. These are the longer “thought pieces” that appear roughly every couple of months In his first two years, Bruni filed 17 of these. Sifton filed 12.
3. Diner’s Journal. Before the blog came along, Bruni used to file a shorter review (unstarred) on Fridays. He did 80 of these. The closest equivalent in the current system is “Dining Briefs”. Sifton has done 26.
4. The Blog. That leaves the blog—difficult to quantify, because the NYT search engine can’t filter out blog posts specifically. Bruni often used the blog to write about restaurants he wasn’t going to review, whereas Sifton almost never did. Bruni generally filed at least 1–2 substantive blog posts per week, while Sifton’s average is near zero. (A short post linking to that week’s newspaper review is not substantive.) In lieu of writing about restaurants, Sifton posted near-useless “Hey, Mr. Critic!” Q&A pieces every so often.

If you don’t care for the numerical approach, just read Village Voice critic Robert Sietsema’s devastating lampoon of Sifton’s laziness or Josh Ozersky’s takedown in Time. These are notable, because critics seldom attack one of their own, whatever their private opinions may be. Why The Times was willing to pay Sifton to do so little work is utterly beyond me.

Industry people I spoke with found Sifton unimpressive. His predecessor, Frank Bruni, came in with a thin resume, but at least he worked hard, wrote well, took the job seriously, and established a clear voice that readers could relate to. Sifton treated it like a two-year vacation.

Fortunately, The Times needed a new national editor, so after two years we are done with him, and he is done with us. Sifton gets an early out from a job he never wanted, and management gets another chance to find someone competent to write restaurant reviews.

If this seems harsh, I offer no apology. There is no other critical discipline at The Times that is treated like a hobby—a mid-career sabbatical before moving on to greener pastures. In books, architecture, theater, film, music, and other fields, the paper has critics who’ve honed their craft for years—decades, even. Whether or not you agree with them, at least you’ve got someone dedicated to his craft.

For restaurants, The Times first gave us a dabbler who had never been to a Michelin-starred restaurant in his life, outside of Italy, before being appointed restaurant critic. And then it gave us someone who had his eye on management, and coasted along while he waited for a better job to open up.

The Times can do better. It must.

Esca

I read the occasional bad reviews of Esca from sources I trust, but never enough to persuade me that the restaurant had lost a step since my last visit, four years ago, when I gave it three stars.

The proffer hasn’t really changed: it’s an Italian seafood restaurant from the Batali–Bastianich empire, it remains insanely popular, and I haven’t been served a bad dish yet.

Many of the Batali–Bastianich restaurants take the attitude that you should tolerate the horrible service they mete out, and just consider yourself lucky that you’re fortunate enough to be in their orbit. It has happened often enough to persuade me that it’s not an accident.

I saw none of that at Esca, where the service was so pleasant and solicitous that you’d almost think Danny Meyer had taken it over. The staff even seated me before my girlfried had arrived—practically unheard of at a Batali restaurant.

Prices have risen only modestly in the four years since my last visit. It looks like every course is about two dollars more, bringing the cost of a four-course meal to around $90 before wine, tax, and tip—about comparable to most of the other New York Times three-star restaurants. But it’s also a menu that’s built for grazing, and you can have an extremely satisfying meal for a lot less than that.

The amuse bouche, chickpea crostini (above left), seems to be unchanged from my last visit. It’s the least satisfying part of the meal.

To start, my girlfriend had the Polipo, or grilled octopus ($17; above left). It’s an Esca specialty, and the kitchen nailed it. After all these years, it is still hard to find crudo better than Esca’s: Bonita, a fish from the tuna family, was served raw ($18; above right), spackled with crushed almonds and resting in a drizzle of olive oil.

The pasta section of the menu offers just six choices, and four of them are made with chilis or hot peppers, which rather limits the options of a diner who prefers to avoid hot food, as my girlfriend did. Fortunately, the Maccheroni alla Chittara ($25; above left) is a winner. The word chittara refers to a pasta-cutting machine that resembles a harp. Most references spell it “chitarra,” but the team at Esca prefer one ‘t’ and two ‘r’s. Here, it’s served in a subtle, exquisitely balanced sea urchin and crab meat sauce.

I ordered an old favorite, the Spaghetti Neri ($24; above right), a squid ink pasta with cuttlefish, green chilis and scallion, which is as good as it was last time. Esca ought to offer more pastas, as the kitchen has obviously mastered them.

The wine lists are strong at all of the Bastianich restaurants, but at Esca it’s not the epic-length tome as at some of its sister restaurants. Vinosia’s Fiama di Avelino (above left) seemed slightly over-priced at $51, but it paired well with the food.

The restaurant is split into several dining rooms, bustling but not overly loud. The space is functional, but it does not have much charm. The food remains the main attraction.

Esca (402 W. 43rd Street at Ninth Avenue, Hell’s Kitchen)

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

Duck Leg Confit at Brasserie Athénée

I’m not going to make a case for Brasserie Athénée, a Theater District restaurant on the edge of the infamous Restaurant Row. It gets largely mediocre reviews. Like most restaurants in that neighborhood, you can get a good meal or a terrible one, depending on what you order, how busy they are (the pre-theater rush tends to be awful), and who’s on duty in the kitchen that day.

I’ll only tell you that the Duck Leg Confit ($21) that my son and I had yesterday was one of the city’s better examples of the genre, especially at the price.

Brasserie Athénée (300 W. 46th Street at Eighth Avenue, West Midtown)

The Chef’s Table at Hecho en Dumbo

 

Hecho en Dumbo, literally “Made in Dumbo,” opened on the buzzing Bowery in early 2010. Once upon a time, it was a Mexican pop-up in DUMBO, till they found permanent digs.

The bare-bones dining room looks like it came right out of Brooklyn. Loud, bustling and crowded, with no customers within a decade of my age, reservations not taken. You probably wouldn’t find me there, which is no knock on what they are doing. It’s just not my kind of joint.

Earlier this year, they launched a chef’s tasting menu at a bright, blond wood counter that looks out over the open kitchen (hat tip: Eater.com). You sit on a metal stool that isn’t very comfortable, but service is attentive, the show is worth watching, and it’s comparatively quiet.

There are about 10 seats. We had the place to ourselves when we arrived at about 6:30 p.m. A couple of other parties had arrived by the time we left, 2½ hours later. Reservations are accepted for parties of 1 or 2, and there is a fairly stern warning that cancellations aren’t accepted after 5:00 p.m. the day before.

The menu is nominally five courses, but we were served ten, including various amuses and at least two comps. But even the normal menu is a remarkably good deal at $55. The care and quality of the preparation is apparent, although at that price they are not serving luxury ingredients.

Various websites mention a wine pairing option, but that has been discontinued: we had cocktails and wines by the glass (there is also a beer selection).

I didn’t take notes and forgot to take a copy of the menu with me, so I present the photos after the jump with light comments, and in some cases none at all. Take my word for it: this deal is worth your while.

The Chef’s Table at Hecho en Dumbo (354 Bowery between Great Jones and E. 4th Streets, East Village)

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

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Franny's

Note: Franny’s is now located at 348 Flatbush Avenue. The former Franny’s space (reviewed below) is now Marco’s from the same owners.

*

For years, Franny’s was on that long list of Brooklyn restaurants that I’d like to try, if only I could find the time to get there. At an hour and fifteen minutes from home, it’s a bit far for anything other than destination cuisine, which I wasn’t persuaded Franny’s had. A Sunday visit to the Brooklyn Botanic Garden (fifteen minutes’ walk from Franny’s) provided the excuse.

When Frank Bruni pronounced himself “besotted,” and awarded two stars, there was the distinct feel of a Brooklyn grading curve. Having now tried it, I can see somewhat what the fuss is about. Two of the dishes we tried (the appetizers) were fantastic. The pasta was less remarkable, but certainly very good. More about that in a minute.

At 6:00 p.m. on a Sunday evening, they were already quoting a walk-in wait of 40 minutes. I can only imagine what it might be at prime time on a Friday or Saturday. Franny’s does not take reservations, and the outdoor garden seating area had already closed for the season—an unfortunate decision on their part, as the temperature was an unseasonably balmy 75 degrees. Fortuitously, there were two vacant bar stools.

It is a noisy restaurant, and your evening is not unlikely to be punctuated with wailing infants and agitated toddlers. For a restaurant that appeals to that demographic, Frannie’s is wonderful—practically miraculous. If you’re in the area, by all means go, but be prepared with a backup plan or a place to cool your jets if they can’t seat you immediately. As good as Franny’s is, it isn’t worth a long subway ride, only to face an unknown, possibly lengthy wait.

A brick oven is the centerpiece of a half-open kitchen. The aroma of charred pizza crust permeates the restaurant, a terrific advertisement for their signature dish. We weren’t hungry enough to order a whole pie, and it’s a pity the chef doesn’t do more with that oven. Just imagine a pork chop, a whole duck, or even chicken. Instead, you’re limited to salumi (selections $9–17), appetizers ($6–15), pastas (just three offered; $16–17) or pizzas ($14–18).

The menu, re-printed daily, fits on one side of a sheet of stiff (presumably post-consumer) paper, with the now obligatory New Brooklyn list of farmers and suppliers on the reverse side. “Our sour cherries, honey crisp apples, blueberries, basil and kale are grown on Phillip’s Farm in Milford, New Jersey… . Our kitchen grease is converted into biodiesel fuel by Tri-State biodiesel.”

The cocktails here are reputed to be excellent, although we drank wine by the glass, a wonderful Casia di Cornia Rossa from Tuscany ($10). The nine-page wine and beverage list is far better than you are entitled to expect at a glorified pizza parlor. There’s an ample selection of bottles under $50, but the vast majority are higher than that, which is somewhat jarring when no food item is higher than $18.

A wood-roasted pork sausage with kale ($15; above left) was the food of the gods: salty, fattening, and bursting with flavor. More, please. A pork cheek and beef tongue terrine ($11; below left) was warm, luscious, and sticky. One hardly needed the excellent warm, crisp bread, but we were glad to have it.

Bucatini all’Amatriciana ($17; above right) was a more modest success: better balance and more deftly seasoned than most chefs could do at home, but unlike the appetizers, not a dish you’ll dream about for days afterward. The portion struck us as a bit small.

The pastas, according to Bruni’s review, had disappeared from the menu for a while, because the chef, Andrew Feinberg, didn’t think he’d mastered them. Perhaps the same timidity explains the absence of real entrées. If so, the chef should get over his hesitation, and start offering them.

On the other hand, when your restaurant is as successful as this one, you probably don’t look to amateur bloggers for advice.

Franny’s (295 Flatbush Avenue between St. Mark’s Ave & Prospect Place, Brooklyn)

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

Balaboosta

When they write the tale of Sam Sifton’s failed tenure as a restaurant critic, perhaps his enthusiastic one-star review of Balaboosta will be front and center: four of the first six paragrahs were about the guests and his fantasies about them, rather than the restaurant.

After that review, for about a year, Balaboosta was always booked when I wanted to go. It remains popular, but lately crowds have thinned a bit. You no longer have to do cartwheels (or dine at inhospitable hours) to get in.

The chef, Einat Admony, serves up a pleasing mix of Mediterranean and Middle Eastern (non-Kosher) cuisine from her native Tel Aviv. There aren’t many great examples of this cuisine in Manhattan, a fact that elevates Balaboosta above the merely routine.

The restaurant’s name is Yiddish, and like much of that language, not exactly translatable. The rough meaning is, “perfect housewife,” which, if it were written in English, wouldn’t tell you much, except that the chef is a woman. She also has a West Village falafal restaurant called Taïm, though her blog gives the impression that most of her attention is spent here.

The menu is admirably focused, with about half-a-dozen entries each in three categories: small plates ($5–11), appetizers ($9–14), and entrées ($20–29).

The wine list — all sustainable, organic, or biodynamic — is mostly French and Italian. There are plenty of choices in the $30–50 range, so you can get out of here for less than the $100 per person that seems to be the mid-priced standard nowadays.

While you wait for the food, you can snack on fried Yuca chips (above left), which have the alarming tendency to spoil one’s appetite.

From the “small plates” part of the menu, we shared the Crispy Cauliflower ($10; below left) with currants and pine nuts, an outstanding dish.

A very good whole Branzino ($29; above right) came with grilled asparagus, a beet-citrus salad, and a lemon-dill sauce.

Sifton’s favorite dish was the boneless half chicken cooked “under a brick,” Israeli couscous with dried apricots and green leeks, and gremolata sauce. It wasn’t bad for a $22 entrée, but the chef didn’t coax as much flavor or tenderness out of the bird as the best I have had lately, the chicken at Tiny’s in Tribeca.

We had a fairly early reservation and found the home-spun space delightful before it filled up. But like so many modern downtown restaurants, the exposed brick meme is played out to the hilt. When full, later in the evening, we were shouting to hear each other, and that was with a corner table. In the middle of the room, I suspect it would have been worse.

Balaboosta is a pleasant enough place, though I would probably choose to come back for lunch or at off-peak dinner hours.

Balaboosta (214 Mulberry Street at Spring Street, NoLIta)

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

Michelin New York 2012 Ratings

The Michelin New York 2012 ratings were announced this afternoon. As always, we’re back with our tabular listing of the stars from 2006 (the first year) to the present. To summarize:

Promotions:

• Brooklyn Fare was promoted from two stars to three
• Eleven Madison Park was promoted from one star to three
• L’Atelier de Joël Robuchon and SHO Shaun Hergatt were promoted from one star to two

I have no argument with any of these: they are all excellent restaurants. We can only hope that the next New York Times restaurant critic won’t be as clueless about Hergatt as the current one.

Demotions:

• Picholine was demoted from two stars to one
• Shalezeh was demoted from one star to none

Shalezeh never deserved a star in the first place, and I have certainly heard reports of a decline at Picholine. I’ve no argument here either.

Starred in First Eligible Year:

• Ai Fiori, Brushstroke, Danji, Junoon, Heartbreak, Tamarind Tribeca, Tulsi

All seven of these received good reviews, though Sifton skipped Heartbreak, sending an underling to write an enthusiastic Dining Brief. It is certainly odd that five of the seven are Indo/Asian, including three Indian.

Older Restaurants Starred for the First Time:

• Rosanjin, Tori Shin

I have no idea what changed at these restaurants to suddenly make them star-worthy. Both have been open since around 2006–07. Rosanjin got an enthusiastic deuce from Bruni in 2007; I gave it three in 2008. Tori Shin was never reviewed in the Times, and I had never heard of it until today. In total, seven of the nine new one-star restaurants are Indian or Asian, a peculiar statistic.

The full list is below. See the end of the post for the color key.

Restaurant	2006	2007	2008	2009	2010	2011	2012
Adour				**	*	*	*
Ai Fiori							*
Alain Ducasse	***
Aldea						*	*
Allen & Delancey				*
Alto				*	**	**
Annisa	*	*	*	*	*	*	*
Anthos			*	*	*	*
Aureole	*	*	*	*	*	*	*
A Voce Columbus						*	*
A Voce Madison		*	*		*	*	*
Babbo	*	*	*
BLT Fish	*
Blue Hill			*	*	*	*	*
Bouley	**	**	**		*	*	*
Breslin, The						*	*
Brooklyn Fare						**	***
Brushstroke							*
Café Boulud	*	*	*	*	*	*	*
Café Gray	*	*	*
Casa Mono					*	*	*
Convivio					*	*
Corton					**	**	**
Country		*	*
Craft	*	*
Cru	*	*	*	*
Daniel	**	**	**	**	***	***	***
Danji							*
Danny Brown						*	*
Danube	**	*	*
Del Posto		**	**	**	*	*	*
Dévi		*	*
Dovetail						*	*
Dressler			*	*	*	*	*
Eighty One				*	*
Eleven Madison Park					*	*	***
Etats-Unis	*	*	*	*	*
Fiamma (Osteria)	*	*		*
Fleur de Sel	*	*	*	*
Gilt			*	**	**	**	**
Gotham Bar & Grill	*	*	*	*	*	*	*
Gordon Ramsay			**	**	**	**	**
Gramercy Tavern	*	*	*	*	*	*	*
Heartbreak							*
Insieme				*	*
Jean Georges	***	***	***	***	***	***	***
Jewel Bako	*	*	*	*	*	*	*
JoJo	*		*	*
Junoon							*
Kajitsu					*	**	**
Kyo Ya				*	*	*	*
Kurumazushi		*	*
L’Atelier de Joël Robuchon			*	*	*	*	**
La Goulue	*	*
Le Bernardin	***	***	***	***	***	***	***
Laut						*	*
Lever House	*	*
Lo Scalco	*
Marc Forgione					*	*	*
March	*
Marea					*	**	**
Masa	**	**	**	***	***	***	***
Minetta Tavern					*	*	*
Modern, The	*	*	*	*	*	*	*
Momofuku Ko				**	**	**	**
Nobu	*
Oceana	*	*	*	*	*	*	*
Perry St.		*	*	*	*
Per Se	***	***	***	***	***	***	***
Peter Luger	*	*	*	*	*	*	*
Picholine	*	*	**	**	**	**	*
Public				*	*	*	*
Rhong-Tiam					*
River Café					*	*	*
Rosanjin							*
Rouge Tomate					*	*	*
Saul	*	*	*	*	*	*	*
Scalini Fedeli	*
Seäsonal					*	*	*
Shalizar/Shalezeh					*	*
SHO Shaun Hergatt					*	*	**
Soto					*	**	**
Spotted Pig	*	*	*	*	*	*	*
Sushi Azabu					*	*	*
Sushi of Gari		*	*	*	*	*	*
Tamarind Tribeca							*
Tori Shin							*
Tulsi							*
Veritas	*	*	*	*	*	*	*
Vong	*	*	*
Wallsé	*	*	*	*	*	*	*
WD~50	*	*	*	*	*	*	*

Color Key:

Green: Restaurant promoted, or starred in first year of eligibility
Yellow: Restaurant demoted, but still has at least one star
Red: Restaurant demoted, and now unstarred
Gray: Restaurant closed, moved, or opened too late in year to be rated

Tiny's

I admit some initial skepticism about Tiny’s, a small Tribeca restaurant that occupies a bright pink landmarked 1810 townhouse.

There are two red flags, right out of the gate. The guys who opened it, Matt Abramcyk and his family (brother, sister, and father), are better known for nightlife spots. And New York Rangers goalie Henrkk Lundqvist is an investor: restaurants associated with famous athletes are usually terrible.

Tiny’s defies the odds: I’ve visited twice, and loved it both times. This is rustic American bistro food, not especially complicated, but really well prepared. Defying the axiom that dinner these days is bound to cost $100 whether you like it or not, Tiny’s is reasonable, with appetizers between $10–13 and entrées $20–25. It’s a focused menu too, with just seven of the former and five of the latter, although at the bar various snacks and burgers are available too.

Dinner begins with warm bread that is simple but beguiling, with soft, spreadable butter—which I mention only because so many restaurants can’t manage this basic convenience.

Grilled chicken ($20; below left) might be the best chicken dish I’ve had this year: juicy and full of flavor, with a smokey crust on the skin and a hearty warm vegetable salad underneath.

Hake ($22; above right) was a shade less memorable, but nicely done, with a salad of artichokes and radishes under a white bean purée.

Both my visits were fairly early on weekday evenings. It was not crowded, and I was seated immediately. But on a Saturday evening at 8:00 p.m. I was turned away, and another day at around 10:00 p.m. there seemed to be a large crowd gathered outside. These are nightlife operators, after all.

A number of message board reviews mentioned poor service, but I was treated well on both visits. The décor is a similar drab chic that the same team nailed at Smith & Mills, a smaller and less accomplished restaurant. With exposed brick, metal chairs, and a pressed tin ceiling, I suspect it could get loud in here when full. But for an early dinner it’s delightful.

Tiny’s (135 West Broadway between Duane & Thomas Streets, Tribeca)

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