Knife + Fork

Note: Knife + Fork closed in late 2010 after a brief, ill-fated re-boot on Avenue A.

I had dinner at Knife + Fork about three years ago, and thought, “I really like this place.” Unfortunately, when a restaurant isn’t in my neighborhood, it takes me a really long time to get back.

I finally returned last week, to find that Knife + Fork is just as good as I remembered it. The background is in my original review, and I won’t repeat all of it. Prices are still quite reasonable for the quality, with appetizers topping out at $16 and entrées at $26. There’s a $24 prix fixe, and the six-course tasting menu remains $45. Small plates at the bar are just $8, or you can enjoy wines by the glass and snack on a gratis bowl of mixed olives.

There is no hard liquor license, as a school is nearby, but there are plenty of bottles in the $20s, $30s and $40s, and an ample selection by the glass, priced at $9–14.

On the night we visited, Chef Damien Bressel was a one-man band, as his wife was out of town and the waiter had called in sick. At least his prep guy was there, but Bressel was greeting customers, waiting tables, and cooking the food without help. He seemed preternaturally calm about doing three jobs at once, and gave better service than many waiters who have nothing more to do. To be fair, we were there quite early, and there were not many customers on a Wednesday evening.

To start, I ordered the Carrot Risotto with ginger purée, topped with a wild chervil salad (above left). My friend had the Foie Gras Torchon (above right).

For the main course, I had the Salmon (above left), my friend the Duck (above right). We didn’t taste each other’s dishes, but mine were both terrific. It’s not easy to make routine dishes like risotto and salmon stand out on a prix fixe menu, but Bressel pulled it off.

For dessert, crème brûlée was more pedestrian—nothing wrong with it, but not memorable either. Bressel comped a separate order of it for my friend. (He hadn’t ordered the prix fixe, and would normally have had to pay an extra $8 for it.)

It’s no small accomplishment to keep a “mom & pop” restaurant in business after three years. The accolades haven’t exactly poured in (the Times never reviewed it), but there must at least be a local following. Knife + Fork deserves wider exposure than that. The impressive food and the charming atmosphere remain compelling draws.

Knife + Fork (108 E. 4th St. between First & Second Avenues, East Village)

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

Perbacco

Perbacco was a routine East Village trattoria until last year, when Simone Bonelli took over as chef, and immediately started turning out creative riffs on Italian specialties. Frank Bruni awarded two stars, as he so often does. We wound up there on Friday evening after another reservation fell through. Business was brisk, but you no longer need to book a week in advance. Our 7:15 p.m. table was available on OpenTable the same afternoon.

I was seated promptly before my girlfriend arrived, but couldn’t flag down a server to order a cocktail. I couldn’t figure out why they assigned us to a tall bar table with backless stools, when many seats in the more comfortable dining room were still empty. I didn’t say anything, but after we’d ordered, they decided it was a mistake and moved us to a better table.

The menu goes on for several pages and is heavy on the antipasti and salads ($9–15). There are about half-a-dozen pastas ($13–18) and an equal number of secondi ($21–25). These prices are reasonable for the quality of the food.

After pondering our choices for a while, we decided to start with the deep-fried olives stuffed with minced meats ($9). Oops! The menu is in transition, and a couple of dishes, including that one, aren’t available yet. In lieu of that, we had the mixed antipasti ($15; below left), all excellent, of which the best was a quartet of onion gelatin ravioli served in a jar of balsamic vinegar. These delicate, quivering globules are swallowed whole, exploding in the mouth with an astonishing burst of flavor. I’d pay $15 again just for those.

The Rosette alla Speck e Bufala ($18; above right) was another remarkable creation—an orb of pasta noodles that collapses to the touch, revealing a cheesy stew of speck and bufala mozzarella.

The aged porterhouse for two ($60; above) won’t put Peter Luger out of business, but it was excellent for a non-steakhouse. Perbacco charges considerably less for it than a steakhouse would, and throws in the sides for nothing.

The service, especially early on, wasn’t quite up to the quality of Chef Bonelli’s kitchen, but it improved as the evening went on. The faux rustic space is easy on the eyes, and the food is surprisingly good.

Perbacco (234 E. 4th Street between Avenues A & B, East Village)

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

DBGB

Chef Daniel Boulud is gradually working his way down the formality ladder. His five New York restaurants, in order of opening, are Daniel, Café Boulud, DB Bistro Moderne, Bar Boulud, and now DBGB—each more casual than its predecessor.

This is sensible positioning on Boulud’s part. Each of his five NYC properties fills a distinct niche, but all of them retain an essential French soul. In that respect, he parts company with fellow four-star chef Jean-Georges Vongerichten, who puts his name to a much wider variety of concepts, many of which have little to do with the cuisine he is famous for.

Not that DBGB is a classical French restaurant—it serves hamburgers and hot dogs, after all—but the core of the menu is French, and it’s a sensibly edited document. It doesn’t try to be all things to all people—as David Bouley tried and failed last year at Secession.

And Boulud knows how to roll out a restaurant. Industry glitterati were all a-twitter at the opening, fawning over the chef’s beer and sausages, admiring the row of cooking pots dotted along the walls, all donated by famous chefs. Beneath its rustic pretensions is a business model that, according to the Times, needs to gross $4.5 million per year to be profitable.

None of this is resentment. Actually, it’s admiration. Boulud could teach the rest of the industry how to open a restaurant. Even at his most casual place, the kitchen runs smoothly. The serving staff are attentive and friendly. They take reservations, check parcels, and transfer the bar tab to the table. It’s nice to know that at least some of David Chang’s antics aren’t being copied by everyone.

The menu is a slave to fashion in at least some respects, with many sections that blur the traditional lines between appetizers and entrées, a system that encourages sharing, and at times over-ordering. We had about the right quantity of food, but it was far too monotonous, and our stomachs felt weighed down at the end of the evening. We may well have chosen the wrong mix of items, and in that respect neither the menu nor our server offered much guidance.

About that menu: there are cold appetizers ($7–17), fruits de mer ($30, 60, 90), hot appetizers ($8–16), charcuterie (a subset of the Bar Boulud menu; $7–12); sausages ($9–15); a section labeled tête aux pieds, which I interpret loosely as “head and feet” ($9–12), entrées ($16–26), three different burgers ($14–19), and side dishes ($6).

Despite all of those categories, the menu manages to avoid the appearance of rambling. The largest section is the sausages, with 14 choices. Along with the tête aux pieds, it’s somewhat confusingly captioned “To Share,” although the section also includes the DBGB Dog ($9), which is just a standard hot dog, albeit with house-made sautéed onions and relish.

We ordered one hot appetizer, two sausages, and one of the tête aux pieds, all to share. This may have been the wrong way to appreciate the menu, but our server either encouraged, or at least did not discourage us from doing this. The kitchen sent out the items one at a time, and at a good pace.

We loved the Octopus à la Plancha ($12; above left), an ample portion lightly cooked, exactly as it should be. Our next item was supposed to be the Toscane ($11; above right). We are not sure if we got the right thing, as it was in a sub-section of the menu captioned “spicy,” and we found nothnig spicy or Tuscan about it. This was the one part of the evening when we could not flag down a server, so we decided to just eat what we had been given. The sausages here tasted like dressed-up breakfast—which is to say, not bad but not wonderful either.

Our next item, the Tunisienne ($15; above left) lived up to its billing. A spicy lamb & mint merguez gave way to a punchy braised spinach with chickpeas. Other sausages caught my eye, such as the Toulouse (pork & duck gizzard with cassoulet beans) and the Boudin Basque (spicy blood and pig’s head), but those will have to wait until another day.

The Pied de Cochon, or pig’s foot ($13; above right) needs to come with a Surgeon General’s warning. It’s hard to tell from the photo, but this thing is huge. Even to share, it was probably excessive. Meat from the pig’s foot appeared to have been smoked, braised, then wrapped in a log and deep fried. There were a few small pieces of bone that apparently remained by mistake, though it is hard to say for sure, as I have nothing to compare it to. The dish was intense, but in the end a bit cloying.

A side order of fries (photo above; $6) was a tad on the mushy side.

There’s a wine list, naturally, but we ordered from the long list of beers, which pair well with such fat-laden food.

DBGB is a noisy restaurant. There are a few booths in alcoves that seem to offer a bit of seclusion, but they’re available only for larger parties. Most diners, even VIPs, are seated in the larger central section, where the packed tables and exposed hard surfaces are tough on the ears. Despite the raucous atmosphere, servers are dressed smartly, and we saw at least three managers prowling the floor and checking on customers’ wants. Except for one brief stretch when we could get no one’s attention to ask about our Tuscan sausage, it seemed there was always a server, a runner, or a manager stopping by—even if you couldn’t quite hear them.

There is much more here, and if the restaurant were on my way home I’d visit a lot more frequently, but I feel full just thinking about all of that fattening food. I’d still like to come back for the “Piggie” (a 6 oz. burger topped with Daisy May’s pulled pork), but I think I need to diet first.

DBGB (299 Bowery at E. 1st Street, East Village)

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

JoeDoe

Note: The chef’s response to this review and my response to him are in the comments. My follow-up comments are here.

I’m going to go out on a limb, and guess that when Joe Dobias was trying to pick a catchy name for his East Village restaurant, he didn’t hire any publicity or marketing firms for advice. That might explain how he came up with JoeDoe, a name that conveys—nothing in particular.

Of course, “Momofuku” conveyed nothing in particular before David Chang turned it into a household word, but usually it’s better to choose a name that conveys at least something about the kind of food you’re trying to serve. We can’t all be David Chang.

Dobias describes his cuisine as “Aggressive American,” whatever that means. He certainly has a way with words when it comes to naming his dishes. During Passover season, he served liver and bacon on challah, calling it “The Conflicted Jew.” Other examples on a recent menu include “Some Really Nice Butt” and “Duck Egg is King.”

He works in a tiny slip of a space scarcely bigger than a bathroom (above right). There is a prep kitchen downstairs, and runners bring stuff in throughout the evening, but Dobias seems to do all the cooking and plating by himself.

The restaurant has just seven tables and six bar stools, which is probably as much as Dobias can handle when it is full—if it ever is. On a Friday evening, just one other table was occupied.

The menu is uncomplicated, with just half-a-dozen appetizers ($9–12) and as many entrées ($19–27). There are also several bar snacks at about $4 each, but during happy hour they’re free. We had the Mutton Meatballs (left), which were the best thing we had all evening. A comped order of fried chickpeas was excellent.

The beverage menu offers an array of house cocktails and “prepared beers,” the latter being mixed drinks made with beer instead of spirits. I lubricated my meal with a couple of these, as I don’t recall seeing them in any other restaurant, and the wine list was minimal.

I loved the Hipster BBQ (Dale’s Pale Ale, organic vodka, seasoned salt, fresh lime and zest), but I didn’t care for the somewhat bitter taste of Alice in JoeDoe Land (Smuttynose ale, absinthe, gingered kumquat, chamomile tea).

As we sat down for dinner, the staff pointed out a rule prohibiting photography, which purportedly annoys the other guests—notwithstanding that there weren’t any, aside from a loving couple at the opposite end of the room who, we are sure, did not notice our non-flash camera. So we are unable to show you the photos of what we ate, which looked a lot better than it tasted.

A Veev Cured Scallop ($12) made a dull impression. Veev (a brand of vodka) contributed little, other than its fancy name. A schmear of jalapeno mayo was more than the scallop needed, but not enough to spread on the accompanying crisp bread. A salad of cured pork on lukewarm cooked green vegetables also misfired.

Pork belly, a posted special, was over-cooked and dry. “Duck, duck, hock,” consisting of tiny gnocchi, a duck egg, and I believe duck ham, was at least correctly prepared, though I would be in no rush to order it again. (The website says that the third ingredient is rock shrimp, but I am pretty sure that is not what we had.)

On Eater.com, editor Amanda Kludt described JoeDoe as “a restaurant that means well,” but found it “disappointing and somewhat bafflingly presented.” That’s about right. It’s obvious that Dobias didn’t open this restaurant to get rich, and he certainly doesn’t take the easy way out. Its quirky offerings often sound interesting, but when the plates arrive the payoff isn’t there.

In a neighborhood that teems with compelling dining options, it’s hard to take JoeDoe seriously. I’d stop in for a cocktail and a snack; then head elsewhere.

JoeDoe (45 E. 1st Street between First & Second Avenues, East Village)

Food: mediocre
Service: good
Ambiance: pleasant
Overall: disappointing

Tse Yang

I tried Tse Yang last week with a friend visiting from out of town. It’s an opulent place that puts a fine-dining gloss on Chinese cuisine usually associated with take-out. It has been around for 20 years, along with a sister restaurant in Paris. All of the menu items are listed in two languages, French and English, an affectation that I suspect is mostly for show.

Most of the online reviews emphasize that this place caters to expense accounts and well-heeled plutocrats. Soups and appetizers range from $6.50–28.00 (most over $15), entrées $19.50–55.00 (most over $25), vegetables, rice and noodles $12.00–19.50. It’s a little odd to see items listed at $0.25 and $0.75 increments, at a place where the average check size is probably over $75 per head.

There’s a serious wine list (which we did not sample), and service is a big step up from the average Chinese restaurant. We ordered entrées to share, which were plated tableside. The servers are efficient, but they seemed bored—as you would expect at a place with laminated menus that probably haven’t changed in decades, except to raise prices.

We ordered quite modestly: a spring roll (left) plus shared orders of “Your Favorite Tse Yang Chicken” and “Lemon Sweet–Sour Pork” (right). There was nothing revelatory about either dish, but the flavor balances and freshness were well above what you’d get at take-out—as they ought to be.

The final bill was $36 per person before tip. You can probably get food just as good or better in Chinatown for a much lower price, but the refined atmosphere at Tse Yang fits the bill for a quiet, relaxed meal.

Tse Yang (34 E. 51st Street between Park & Madison Avenues, East Midtown)

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

Apiary

Note: This is a review under chef Scott Bryan, who left the restaurant in April 2014. Bryan will be opening a new restaurant on the Bowery called Bacchanal. After a very brief renovation, the space re-opened as Après with Mazen Mustafa, the former chef de cuisine at The Elm.

*

Like many restaurants these days, Apiary had a troubled birth. It opened in August 2008 under Chef Neil Manacle, a Bobby Flay disciple. Adam Platt of New York awarded just one star, while the Times relegated it to Dining Briefs (a treatment accorded restaurants deemed not worth reviewing).

In January 2009, the owners quietly replaced Manacle with Scott Bryan, the chef who earned three stars at Veritas. There was no splashy announcement. Florence Fabricant of the Times reported the news after Bryan had already been on the job for “about a week.” We decided to wait a few months to give Bryan time to install his own menu.

It has been a tough couple of years for Bryan since he left Veritas (the reasons were never explained). He was named chef at two New York properties, 10 Downing and Lever House, backing out of both projects before cooking his first meal. In between, he consulted at the Falls Church, VA restaurant, 2491. He comes into Apiary with distinctly lower ambitions. The menu, with no entrée above $27, is a far cry from the $85 prix fixe at Veritas.

There is clearly some confusion about the concept. The sleek, high-end décor seems out of place in a neighborhood where most restaurants cater to NYU students and foodies who prefer to dine on bar stools (think Momofuku). The mid-priced menu doesn’t pair well with a wine list where most reds are well above $100, and many are far above that. We had to wonder who would order a $950 Cabernet with such unassuming food.

It is not unusual for appetizers to outshine entrées, but the magnitude of the difference was staggering. It was as if the main courses came from another kitchen. I started our meal assuming that I was going to give out at least two stars. I ended it wondering how I could justify even one.

Hefty chunks of grilled octopus ($12; above left), served over white beans, had a luscious, smoky flavor. Warm Chevre cheese ($9; above right) was topped with greens and roasted beets. It was a less inventive dish, but beautifully done.

The entrées were poor. Peking Duck Breast ($26; above left) and Grilled Hanger Steak ($27; above right) were both tough and cooked well beyond the medium rare we had requested. We couldn’t detect any of the Peking spices alleged to adorn the duck, nor the green peppercorn sauce promised for the steak. Both were served atop a pedestrian vegetable purée—celery root for the duck, potatoes for the steak.

We had no complaints with a side of Brussels Sprouts ($7; left). We also liked the bread service (homemade olive bread).

We suspect that Bryan’s kitchen is capable of doing far, far better than this. However, we can rate our meal based only on what we had, not on what might have been. Perhaps other reviewers will recommend Apiary. We cannot.

Apiary (60 Third Avenue between 10th & 11th Streets, East Village)

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

Absinthe Wine Bar

Absinthe Wine Bar opened in late January in the East Village, on a stretch of First Avenue that has become a dining Mecca over the last few years. It isn’t as splashy as some of its neighborhood peers, but we loved the quiet, civilized atmosphere, and the food is very good indeed, especially given the low price point.

Chef Nelson German’s cuisine is French–Mediterranean, with couscous and chickpeas figuring in several dishes, along with many French bistro standards. Snack plates are $3 apiece, appetizers $7–9 and entrées $11–16. Wines by the glass are $7–15, and most wines by the bottle are between $25–55.

The décor is described as “a synthesis of vintage Paris and contemporary New York, with a stop in Tunisia on the way.” A mural of Toulouse-Lautrec paintings and Tunisian fabrics dominate the small dining room. The space seats 50 between the tables and the bar, and there will be an outdoor garden when the whether gets warmer.

“Absinthe Wine Bar” was probably not the best choice for a name. Although Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec invented an absinthe-based cocktail called the Earthquake (or Tremblement de Terre), neither it, nor indeed any Absinthe at all is served here. It is, at least, a wine bar, though with a more ambitious menu than you’ll find at many places of that description.

Management should try to find a way to make their narrow storefront (a former deli) more conspicuous. If you were not looking for Absinthe Wine Bar, you could easily walk right by without realizing it is is there.

We started with a couple of snacks (both $3). Tomato Basil Croutons (above left) had a bright, lively flavor; I would have called them crostini. Crispy chick peas (above right) could become addictive.

We loved both appetizers. Absinthe Shrimp “Flambée” ($9; above left) was a simple pleasure, with fennel, garlic, white wine, and sweet butter. Here too, perhaps another name would be better. With “flambée” in the title, we expected something flashy, perhaps at tableside, but the flame stayed in the kitchen. Spinach Meatballs ($7; above right) were much heartier, but just as effective.

Both entrées were generous portions at $16. Chargrilled Steak (above left) would have been ample on its own, but it also came with short rib confit. The fries were perfect, but the steak was a bit tough. We didn’t expect dry aged prime, but it occurred to us that perhaps the kitchen would be better off serving hanger or skirt steak at this price.

We found no fault at all with a Trio of Lamb (above right), which came with two juicy chops, shoulder confit, and two spicy merguez sausages. Most restaurants would charge $10 more for this dish, and even then it would be a bargain.

In the interest of full disclosure, we dined here at a publicist’s invitation and did not pay for our meal. I can safely say that we are always happy to enjoy solid, inexpensive comfort food in a quiet, charming atmosphere. And that is exactly what Absinthe Wine Bar has to offer.

Absinthe Wine Bar (111 First Avenue between 6th/7th Streets, East Village)

The Redhead

I am late to the Redhead party. There’s a discussion thread on mouthfuls that is now up to 48 pages—more than almost any other restaurant in the city. I remember thinking, “What could the fuss be about?” In mid-2008, it got the Dining Briefs treatment from Pete Wells of the Times, even though it was then serving dinner only one night a week.

The fuss is about good southern-fried comfort food priced so low that it’s one of the best deals in town. In late 2008, the Redhead opened for full-time dinner service. With most appetizers $12 or less and most entrées $20 or less, you can put together a respectable meal for well under $50 per head, including alcohol.

I started with the excellent Grilled Kreutzer Sausage ($8), which comes with a mid-sized warm pretzel that I found almost superfluous. The acclaimed Buttermilk Fried Chicken ($17) has a nice side salad decked with walnuts and the best cornbread I have ever tasted. Counting the pretzel, the cornbread, and a dinner roll, it was a carby meal indeed. A free chocolate oatmeal cookie came with the bill, but I set it aside after one bite.

The setting is a dimly-lit pub. I didn’t try any of the house cocktails, but a decent Côtes du Rhone was just $8 a glass. Service was much more attentive and friendly than you’d expect in such a place. I was seated immediately at 6:30 p.m. on a Friday evening. I wanted to linger, but by 7:20 p.m. the bar was packed. Though no one asked me to leave, it seemed unfair to monopolize a table when others were at the bar waiting. So I left.

This is one of many East Village places that I would gladly patronize all the time, if only it were on my commuting path home. Perhaps it’s time I rethought my travel pattern. After all, it isn’t that much of a detour to hop an L train to First Avenue, where the Redhead is only a block away.

The Redhead (349 E. 13th Street, west of First Avenue, East Village)

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

Terroir

Note: Terroir in the East Village closed in January 31, as part of the culinary “divorce” between chef Marco Canora and sommelier Paul Grieco. The East Village location is expected to become a new restaurant under Canora’s supervision. Three other Terroirs (in Tribeca, in Murray Hill, and on the Highline) will remain open, under Grieco’s control.

*

I dropped by Terroir the other night to taste the pork blade steak that Frank Bruni has been raving about. He rated it one of the top ten dishes of 2008.

He’s right—up to a point. The steak, just $17, is a pig shoulder, cut thin, broiled on high heat, and lightly seasoned. Unlike Bruni, I saw no need to dump arugula and parmesan on top. The intense porky flavor never wore out on me, even though consuming this beast is a major project.

The server’s suggested wine pairing, a 2005 Merlot from Shinn Estate Vinyards on Long Island ($11.50/gl.), was as provocative as it was successful.

My last visit to Terroir was on opening night, in March 2008. Since then, the wine list has expanded, and it’s full of sommelier Paul Grieco’s signature wit. If you’re alone, it can take the place of a dinner companion.

The only trouble with Terroir is getting in. When I arrived at about 7:00 p.m. on a Friday night, I snagged the last stool available at the bar. By the time I left, the server was quoting about 15–20 minute waits for parties of two.

Although the space is perpetually full, the servers provide plenty of attention. Most people seemed to be there to drink. The chef, who occupies a cramped corner in the back of the restaurant, wasn’t working up much of a sweat. But everything she was asked to produce looked wonderful.

There’s a lot of Terroir left to try.

Terroir (413 E. 12th Street east of First Avenue, East Village)

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

Belcourt

[Metromix]

Note: Matthew Hamilton left Belcourt in December 2011, and the restaurant closed in 2012. It was replaced by Calliope, by Waverly Inn chef Eric Korsh and his wife, Ginevra Iverson.

*

Matthew Hamilton is a chef you want to root for. His two previous gigs fell apart for reasons not his fault. At Uovo, he couldn’t get a liquor license. At Pair of 8’s, he arrived too late to save a restaurant already on life support.

Things are going better at Belcourt, where he’s into his second year and appears to have a solid East Village neighborhood following, supplemented by a few folks like me who are curious enough to make the trek.

He’s got a lovely space, with spectacular picture windows looking out on East 4th Street and Second Avenue. A striking old-fashioned bar, distressed mirrors, a pressed tin ceiling and an antique tile floor suggest the kind of unfancy bistro you dream about but seldom find any more.

Belcourt stayed off most of the critics’ radar. In the Times, Frank Bruni gave it the Dining Briefs treatment, noting that “this charming, happy restaurant…wants to hit your comfort-food sensors.” That’s accurate.

The menu notes with laconic modesty, “Everything that can be made in house, is.” That includes a variety of sausages, cured meats and pâtés. There’s also the usual comment about local organic farmers and organically-raised meats, which is a fixture on menus all over town.

We assume bread (served in a bucket) is home-made, along with the butter, which was soft the way we like it. A selection of the house charcuterie ($16; above right) was more than ample for two to share as an appetizer.

Prices are gentle on the pocketbook, with soups and salads at $7–9, starters $8–15, mains $12–24, and sides $5–6.

The pork chop ($24; above left) was as large as a truncheon and very good too, but the vegetables underneath it seemed dull and over-salted. My girlfriend thought the burger (above right) was one of the best she’s had in a long time. The bun, naturally, is house-made. It’s a bargain at $12 (cheese and onions $2 extra apiece), and the fries that come along with it are perfect.

The wine list is too expensive, with no reds I could trust below $50. I don’t care how high the list goes, but a restaurant at Belcourt’s overall price level needs to go a lot lower.

The food at Belcourt is very well made, service in hearty portions and at low prices. I can’t quite call it destination cuisine, but it’s a place I’m glad to have around. Our dinner here was one of the more enjoyable inexpensive meals we’ve had in a while.

“This,” my girlfriend said, “is what Secession should have been.”

*

Update: Belcourt has brought its wine list in line with the humble atmosphere. On a recent visit, a respectable Corbières was available at $31. That is much more like it. Bone marrow tacos ($10) are one of the strangest dishes I’ve had, but they were excellent. The pork chop (now $21) remains excellent.

Belcourt (84 E. 4th Street at Second Avenue, East Village)

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