The John Dory

 

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Merkato 55

 
 
Merkato 55: Gorgeous, but a ghost town

Note: Merkato 55 bit the dust in June 2009. It re-opened as a pan-Mediterranean restaurant, Le 55. A Brazilian super-model is the owner, and Philip Guardione, from the Four Seasons in Milan, is the chef. We wish them good luck with that.

*

What must it be like to invest a king’s ransom in a restaurant that flops? Perhaps the owners of Merkato 55 can tell us.

In this gorgeous space, chef Marcus Samuelsson tries to do for African cuisine what Jean-Georges Vongerichten did for Pan-Asian street food at Spice Market, just a few blocks away. But four years after Vongerichten’s success, the once trendy Meatpacking District is cursed. No restaurant with serious pretentions has succeeded here lately, and Merkato 55 now seems doomed. It was a ghost town at 7:00 p.m. on a Saturday evening. When we left an hour later, it was a ghost town still.

Reviews were mixed. Frank Bruni in the Times and Steve Cuozzo in the Post weren’t impressed, but Adam Platt in New York awarded two stars, and Restaurant Girl in the Daily News an amazing three. It appears that the dining public agrees with Bruni and Cuozzo. When a restaurant is nearly empty on a weekend evening, the prognosis must be grim indeed. Eater.com put Merkato 55 on deathwatch, and then pronounced it a shitshow.

Shrimp Piri Piri

It doesn’t help that Samuelsson’s performance is phoned in, and he is only a small-part owner here. Even during the opening period, he was hardly ever sighted. His attentions are no doubt focused on his flagship Swedish restaurant, Aquavit, and various other marketing gimmicks that have his name attached.

For all of that, the food at Merkato 55 isn’t bad, though it isn’t great either. The menu has various “small bites” from $3–13, appetizers $12–18, entrées $19–37, and side dishes $6–10. I’m not sure how “African” it is, and as Cuozzo noted, on a continent that is home to 53 nations and 900 million people, any concept of a single “cuisine” is probably in Samuelson’s imagination.

To start, my son and I shared Grilled Shrimp Piri Piri ($17), which were slathered in a forgettable, gloppy sauce on a bed of equally forgettable Baby Romaine lettuce.

 
Left: Merguez Sausage; Right: Chicken Doro Wat

An entrée of Merguez Sausage ($19) is not for those with big appetites, but the contrast of spicy sausage with watermelon and corn worked for me. I loved the Spicy Chicken Doro Wat ($27)—a luscious, tender chicken curry—but it may not be to all tastes: my son absolutely hated it.

 
Left: Steak Dakar; Right: Merkato Fries

Since my son had detested both the appetizer and the entrée, we ordered the Steak Dakar ($34). The kitchen did a respectable job with the steak, and it’s a suitable bail-out dish for those who mistrust the rest of the menu, but it’s no more African than the fries that came with it (also available as an $8 side dish). I found the fries too salty, but my son liked them.

The beverage menu offers several versions of infused rum punch, overpriced at $14. I found mine overly sweet, dominated by lime juice, and offering no more than a splash of rum.

Merkato 55 is a decent place. If I were in the neighborhood, I’d happily go back for the Chicken Doro Wat, though I’m not sure what else you can depend on. Service was attentive, but the staff had hardly anyone else to look after. I’ll be surprised if Merkato 55 is still around next year.

Merkato 55 (55 Gansevoort St. between Greenwich & Washington Sts., Meatpacking District)

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

Scarpetta

[Kreiger via Eater]

Note: Scott Conant is no longer affiliated with the New York branch of Scarpetta, though he continues to “run” (I use the term loosely) the Scarpettas in other cities.

*

At the new Italian restaurant Scarpetta, we have another telling of the usual story these days: a former three-star chef in one or two-star surroundings.

Here, the former big-time chef is Scott Conant, who had five stars to his name between L’Impero (three, per Asimov) and Alto (the deuce, per Bruni). He left the two restaurants in 2007, consulted a while, and is now back in Manhattan at Scarpetta, on the edge of the Meatpacking District.

The former Gin Lane space looks like a quiet country home on the outside, despite the Meatpacking madness just steps away. Indoors, there’s a large bar space for the bridge-and-tunnel set.

The dining room is decorated in a modern rustic chic, with mirrors fastened to the walls with leather saddle belts, and matching saddle leather placemats. A retractable roof could be delightful in the spring and autumn, but it was closed on a hot Saturday evening in June, so that the dining room could be air conditioned.

The exposed hard surfaces make Scarpetta a noisy restaurant when it is full—and full is how you’ll most likely find it, thanks to the sterling reputation that Conant brings with him. He’s serving the same seasonal modern Italian cuisine that brought him accolades at L’Impero.

Scarpetta, which means “little shoe,” has potential if the kitchen can work out some inconsistencies. Our first and second courses came out quickly, but we waited an eternity for the third, and we observed similar waits at other tables. When they finally came out, our entrées were somewhat disappointing.

Prices are in line with other restaurants in “former three-star chef” club, with appetizers from $11–17, pastas $22–25, and entrées $25–37. The server told us that appetizer-sized pasta portions were quickly dropped after opening, when they found the kitchen couldn’t keep up. That was apparently a wise move, since the kitchen still isn’t keeping up.

We fashioned a three-course meal by ordering an appetizer to share, followed by a pasta to share, followed by two entrées. The kitchen plated each of the first two courses as separate “half-orders” without being prompted.

 

The bread service could quickly become addictive. Four kinds of homemade bread came with soft butter, an eggplant spread, and a pool of olive oil. Raw Yellowtail ($16) in sea salt and ginger oil had a bright taste, and there was a nice ring of fat around the fish, although the salt crust wasn’t spread as evenly as it should be.

 

The second course, Agnolotti dal Plin ($24), was impeccable. Pasta pillows were filled with mixed meat and fonduta, with mushrooms and parmigiano.

 

Neither entrée quite lived up to expectations. A Boneless Braised Veal Shank ($31) had been allowed to cook too long, and was slightly dry—still edible, but not as well executed as it should be. We loved the bone marrow & gremolata garnish, which was applied at tableside. Pacific Orata ($26) needed to have a crisper skin. I should note that both dishes had great potential. Neither was bad, and both could very well be winners in the long run.

The wine list emphasizes Italy and France, and there are plenty of bottles at reasonable prices. A 2000 Portulano was only $53.

For a restaurant as crowded as this, the serving staff did an excellent job of staying on top of things. This bodes well for Scarpetta, assuming that the kitchen can work out of its early growing pains. There is some very good food here, though no one should have the illusion that the quality or consistency matches the palmiest days at L’Impero.

Scarpetta (355 W. 14th Street, east of Ninth Avenue, Meatpacking District)

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

Craftsteak

Note: Craftsteak closed at the end of 2009. After modestly remodeling the space, the same team opened Colicchio & Sons in early 2010.

*

Craftsteak had a tough start, with most of the reviews citing the same peculiar flaw: the kitchen didn’t know how to cook a steak. With prices running about $10–20 per steak higher than the going rate in Manhattan, that wasn’t going to fly.

I visited Craftsteak 1.0 twice (here, here). Frankly, I might not have bothered to return after the first time, but I was so sure Tom Colicchio would right the ship that I figured it was worth another look. The second visit was, if anything, even worse than the first. I was still sure that Colicchio would fix it somehow, but I wasn’t going to rush back.

Tom Colicchio got busy. He fired his chef de cuisine, bought new kitchen equipment, and continued to tweak the menu. His efforts finally paid off with a rare re-review from Frank Bruni, elevating the restaurant to the two stars that I’m sure Colicchio intended it to have. More than a year after my last visit, I thought it was time to give Craftsteak another try.

Craftsteak 2.0 is much improved, though not without its flaws. The menu is still far too sprawling, with 20 different steaks and 35 side dishes. Ten of those steaks are variations on the New York Strip — corn-fed, grass-fed, or Wagyu; 10, 12 or 18 ounce; aged anywhere from 28 to 65 days. Who needs so many options?. Colicchio should offer New York Strip the two or three ways he thinks are best, and ditch the others.

 

The amuse-bouche was a bit of a dud: a thin pâté buried too deep in a cast-iron bowl, with just three skimpy crackers to mop it up with. Parker-house rolls were much more successful, and it was all we could do not to eat all six of them.

 

Our favorite steak is the ribeye: naturally, there are two versions: 14-ounce grass-fed ($55) or 18-ounce corn-fed ($52). We chose the latter, as it’s four ounces heavier and three dollars cheaper. And finally, Craftsteak served a steak for the gods: tender, beautifully charred, evenly marbled, full of mineral flavor. There was no need for four steak sauces: they were first-class, but why offer only two spoons?

Rounding it out was a plate of gnocchi ($11), soft, light and creamy enough to make you forget every other gnocchi you’ve ever had.

The dining room was full, but we had no trouble getting walk-in seating at the bar. The tables there are just as big, and it’s the same menu. Servers aren’t quite attentive enough. I would almost be tempted to award three stars for the food, if I did not suspect that a menu as vast as Craftsteak must have some duds, and perhaps we were just lucky enough not to order any of them. But on the strength of this visit, it appears that Craftsteak is finally delivering on its promise.

Craftsteak (85 Tenth Avenue at 15th Street, Far West Chelsea)

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

Spice Market

Note: Spice Market closed in September 2016. The restaurant remained successful; the landlord simply wanted them out, to make way for a more lucrative retail tenant. Jean-Georges Vongerichten says that he hopes to re-open at another New York location. In the meantime, you’ll have to make do with clones in Punta de Mita, Mexico, and Doha, Qatar.

Amanda Hesser of The New York Times comically over-rated Spice Market when it opened in 2004, awarding three stars. It was probably a solid two, but suffered the inevitable decline that plagues almost all of the Vongerichten restaurants. In 2009, Frank Bruni demoted it to one star, which was probably about right. By the end, it was basically a party restaurant for tourists, but as tourist restaurants go, you could do a lot worse.

*

A little over three years ago, Spice Market’s arrival signaled a milestone for the Meatpacking District. For the first time, a serious restauranteur (Jean-Georges Vongerichten) was staking claim to an area that used to be a wholesale meat market and prostitution haunt.

Indeed, in a much-ridiculed three-star review, Amanda Hesser of the Times advised Vongerichten to pump ginger aroma into the street, to overcome “the stench of blood and offal from the surrounding meatpacking district.” She added, “It’s hardly an olfactory amuse-bouche.”

Nowadays, your tender nostrils needn’t worry about the stench of blood: the original meatpackers are long gone, and the area is a maze of clubs and mostly second-tier restaurants. Whether it has any restaurants worth your while is open to debate. I am probably in the minority, when I tell you that there are actually a few Meatpacking restaurants I like.

Until yesterday, I’d never been to Spice Market, except for drinks. In the early days, it was one of the city’s toughest tables to book, and I never bothered. However, when a friend suggested it, I was happy to accept the invitation, as it was the only one of Vongerichten’s Manhattan restaurants I’d never been to. Things have settled down a bit, although Spice Market still does brisk business. On a Tuesday night, most tables were taken, and I noted that all of the luxurious private rooms downstairs were fully booked.

The pan-Asian menu is divided into appetizers ($9.00–14.50), salads ($7.50–14.00), soups ($7.50–8.50), seafood entrées ($18–30), meat entrées ($16–36), and noodles/rice ($2.00–14.50). At the bottom comes the ominous warning, “All dishes are served family style.” That means they come out of the kitchen, and onto the middle of the table, when the kitchen is ready to serve them—not necessarily when you’re ready to eat them.

We weren’t sure how much food we needed, and “small plate” restaurants like Spice Market tend to encourage over-ordering. For appetizers, we tried the Black Pepper Shrimp ($14.50), which was nicely balanced in true Vongerichten fashion with sun dried pineapples. Mushroom Egg Rolls ($9.50 for four) with a galangal dipping sauce were also excellent.

We moved on to the Ginger Fried Rice ($7), which came topped with a fried egg, sunny side up, with ginger and garlic. This was so irresistible that we practically inhaled it, and didn’t wait for any of the entrées to arrive. The kitchen also did well by a tangy Cod with Malaysian Chili Sauce ($19), which the waiter divided and served tableside.

Both meat entrées disappointed. Pork Vindaloo ($19) and Red Curried Duck ($19) both tasted like they could have been simmering for a week, with generic sauces that could have come from any curry house on any back street. Amanda Hesser loved both, but they’ve lost whatever appeal they once had.

In the end, we probably ordered one dish more than we needed, but I was glad to be able to sample a broader swath of the menu. Most dishes were spicy, but not particularly so. The server was about right, when he said that the heat of the Pork Vindaloo was “5 on a scale of 1 to 10.”

I had recalled that Thai Jewels were the best of the desserts, and though we were quite full, we had to give it a try. Here we agreed with Amanda Hesser, so I’ll let her tell it:

Tiny bits of sweet water chestnut are glazed with tapioca, dyed candy colors like cherry red and lime green. These jewels are blended with palm seeds and slivers of jackfruit and papaya, then heaped onto a nest of coconut ice. It is fruity, nutty, cold and slushy, a wonderful mess of flavors, not unlike Lucky Charms.

The wine list isn’t long or complex, with reds and whites listed in each of three categories: smooth, bold, spicy. I chose a spicy red wine for $48, and we were quite pleased with it.

Servers were well versed in the menu and gave reasonable ordering advice. The choreography of waiters and runners sometimes got a bit discombobulated. At the table next to us, they managed to spill a whole bottle of water. Nothing so alarming happened to us, but there were minor glitches. Yet, at other times the service was more polished than you’d expect for a restaurant in Spice Market’s price range.

Despite the “family style” menu, the pace was quite reasonable, and we spent around 2½ hours there. I don’t know if we lucked out, or if they actually try to time the courses intelligently. Anyhow, it’s a good thing we were never served more than one dish at a time, as our small two-top wouldn’t have accommodated any more.

What can you say about the Disney-meets-Thailand décor, and serving staff in orange pajamas? You’ll love it or hate it, but it has no peer in Manhattan. I would guess that Jean-Georges Vongerichten spends no more than 15 seconds a month thinking about Spice Market. It runs on reputation. But there’s just enough left that you can see what all the excitement was about.

Spice Market (403 West 13th Street at Ninth Avenue, Meatpacking District)

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

Paradou

The outdoor garden at a quieter moment than we experienced it

When Paradou opened in mid-2001, the Meatpacking District had not yet completed its metamorphosis from a seedy industrial district that was home to more prostitutes than restaurants, into the bastion of high-concept tourist dining that it has now become. It’s hard to name many Meatpacking restaurants that can be seriously recommended chiefly for their food. Paradou, which means “paradise,” is one of the few.

That’s not to say that Paradou hasn’t succumbed somewhat to the spirit of the neighborhood. When Eric Asimov of the Times reviewed it in January 2002, it was just a tiny Provençal bistro serving wine and sandwiches, with scarcely more than about half-a-dozen tables. It now has a large outdoor garden that’s enclosed during the winter, turning Paradou into a full-size restaurant. That garden might be pleasant for al fresco dining in the summer, but it entirely lacks the charm of the intimate front room. Tables are scrunched together, and on a Saturday night the space got noisy indeed.

Beet Tarte TatinSince the early reviews, Paradou has also added a new chef, Kfir Ben-Ari, who has expanded the offerings considerably. The menu changes seasonally, and prices are in a fairly wide range. Appetizers are $7 (soup du jour) to $30 (caviar). Entrees are $19 (chicken) to $76 (a thick-cut veal chop and a whole lobster for two). Side dishes are $6, desserts $6–9. There’s a serious cheese program, presented on a separate menu, which we didn’t sample.

I started with the Beet Tarte Tatin, which validated my new addiction to beet appetizers. As usual, beets were paired with goat cheese, this time atop a puff pastry, with walnuts and other garnishes hovering near the edge of the plate. 

My girlfriend had the French Onion Soup, which I didn’t try, but it looked hearty enough, and she seemed pleased.

Poisson du JourMonkfish was the Poisson du Jour, here served on a bed of black beans and topped with carrots. I found the fish just slightly chewy, but the combination as a whole worked well. My girlfriend, who was in a steak mood, was happy with the Entrecôte with Potato Gratin.

The kitchen managed to keep things moving well despite the Saturday night crowds. Servers and runners were attentive, but seemed a bit rushed, and several times dropped things (nothing important) on the floor, like silverware and menus.

In an unusual arrangement, Paradou offers a considerable number of wines by the quarter or half-liter, in addition to a larger selection by the bottle, with a quarter-liter being good for about two glasses. In the Times, Eric Asimov found this format inconvenient, but the quarter-liter prices seem more than fair. We ordered a full bottle, which unfortunately didn’t please us, but I don’t hang that on the restaurant.

Paradou has worked hard to remain relevant in a neighborhood dominated by fancier neighbors. On Saturday mornings, there are cooking lessons ($40) for children under 5 (Times story here). The weekend brunch special ($25) includes “all you can drink” Belinis, Mimosas, and Kir Royales. A Monday to Thursday weeknight special from 6:00–7:30 p.m. ($20.07) offers a plate of cheese, paté and salumi with a glass of red or white wine.

I wouldn’t say we were wowed by anyting we had at Paradou, but I suspect the restaurant is a lot more pleasant on weeknights, when it isn’t overrun by the Meatpacking Crowd.  The hearty Provençal fare may not be remarkable, but it deserves to be taken seriously, in a neighborhood where so little else can be.

Paradou (8 Little West 12th Street between Ninth Avenue and Washington Street, Meatpacking District)

Food: *
Service: *
Ambiance: no stars for the garden in wintertime
Overall: *

STK

The Meatpacking District is surprisingly light on the commodity it’s named for: red meat. There’s the Old Homestead, which has been in the nighborhood since the streets were lined with prostitutes, and Craftsteak, which technically is in Chelsea. Frank’s, a mediocre Italian steakhouse nearboy, is also technically in Chelsea. That leaves the new STK (“ess-tee-kay”) as the only Meatpacking District steakhouse that actually feels like the neighborhood.

A look at the website will have you quickly doubting whether STK is at all serious about, you know, steak. The splash animation begins with the word “SCENE” in white letters on a fucsia background. The word “STEAK” fades in and out; then “SEAFOOD”; then “SALAD.” On the main page:

The bustling bar scene is the centerpiece, the menu is inspired, the DJ creates the sexy vibe and the atmosphere is relaxed.

Party rooms are called “Lillie St. Cyr,” “Do May,” “Tempest Storm” and “Candy Barr.” The design renderings (here, here, here) suggest a restaurant with everything but steak on its mind. All three feature lithe twenty-somethings in short skirts, in what appears to be a moody nightclub setting. From the pictures, it’s not even clear that there’s any actual dining tables. The opening invite does nothing to dispel this impression. It shows a leggy model in a red micro-dress, from behind, holding a cleaver and a steak on a meathook. The caption reads, “Not your daddy’s steakhouse.”

For all that, STK’s menu (PDF) offers much to be thankful for. Steaks come in three categories: small ($18–26), medium ($29–59) and large ($49–74). It’s a welcome change from the typical steakhouse, where your choices are limited to large and humungous. There’s also an ample selection of non-steak entrées ($24–46). By far the most expensive of these is a funky-sounding dish called Surf, Turf & Earth, which includes tuna, black truffles, and foie gras. Salads ($10–18) and appetizers ($11–20) include most of the usual suspects, but foie gras french toast ($20) and shrimp rice krispy’s ($14) sure seem worth a look.

I ordered the bone-in rib steak ($36). It had a strong flavor and was cooked perfectly to the medium rare I’d requested. If it wasn’t the best rib-eye I’ve had, it was certainly superior to the one I had at Porter House NY last week. You can choose from among six steak sauces, such as salsa verde and blue butter, but I chose the house STK Sauce, which added a commendable bit of spice to an already good steak. Although listed in the menu’s “medium” section, at 24 oz. this rib-eye is an impressive hunk of meat. You had better be hungry if you order the Cowboy Rib-Steak (36 oz., $49). The hefty steak knife, by the way, is one of the more impressive specimens I’ve seen. “Be careful,” the server said as he dropped it off.

Side dishes ($9) include many of the usual suspects, but Parmesan Truffle Fries were intriguing enough to be worth a look. They came stacked like lincoln logs, with each fry about half-an-inch square, and about four inches long. I thought perhaps they’d be better if they weren’t quite as thick, but I suspect they’ll be a hit with many diners.

The wine and liquor list is very reasonably priced, with an ample number of bottles under $50. A glass of 10-year tawny port was only $10.

I would normally end my review here, but I want to report on the drama that took place a couple of tables away. A married couple that looked about twenty years too old for the restaurant had both ordered the sirloin ($38). They asked to speak to a manager. “This is the worst steak I’ve had in my life,” the man said. His wife concurred. They practically shoved their plates in the manager’s face, declined her offer to re-do the steaks or send out something else, and asked for the check.

I assumed that was the end of it, but a few minutes later out came the chef, Todd Mark Miller. He introduced himself, explained that he was “new to the project,” and did all but get down on bended knee and beg the couple to allow him to re-do their steaks. Miller also offered to comp a foie gras appetizer, which the couple would not accept. But they did finally agree to accept new steaks, which Miller said he would cook himself.

A short while later, out came Miller with a parade of busboys, with two freshly cooked sirloins (which he again reminded them he cooked himself) and extra side dishes. Miller insisted on waiting till the couple had tasted the steaks, to ensure they were done correctly. For the first time, the man smiled and nodded his head. His satisfaction must have been sincere, because he did finish the steak, and his wife left only a little behind.

I don’t know if I’ve ever seen a chef do more personally to try to please two difficult customers. It impressed me even more because—well, it seems indelicate to say so, but this couple seemed so out-of-place in the neighborhood. They could tell all their friends to avoid STK, and it wouldn’t really make a difference, insofar as the management’s intended demographic is concerned. But the restaurant was determined to make it right, when they could just as easily have given the couple their check, and forgotten about them.

As the publicity photos suggest, STK does have an unusually large bar space, but there are also two dining rooms and an upper level with four private rooms and a private cocktail area. A rooftop café with a separate menu will open next summer. The rock music sound track is not unreasonably loud. The clientele is generally young. The two women at the table next to me, both about 30, each ordered a blue iceberg lettuce salad and steaks from the “small” portion of the menu. They’re the kind of diners who will love STK, but probably wouldn’t choose a conventional steakhouse.

If my dining experience wasn’t transcendent, it was perfectly solid. Much more of the menu looks to be worth exploring. The scenery is easy on the eyes, and the service is just fine.

STK (26 Little W. 12th Street between Washington & Greenwich Streets, Meatpacking District)

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

Buddakan

Of the two restaurants that Stephen Starr transplanted from Philadelphia last year, Buddakan seems to have been the more successful. Morimoto, on the other hand, didn’t quite live up to Starr’s promise that it would be “far more interesting than any restaurant New York has seen.” It even achieved the rare distinction of a “Don’t bother” rating from Andrea Strong, who hardly ever visits a restaurant she does not like.

Back to Buddakan: A business associate invited me to dinner there the other night — I suggested it, he was paying, which is always a pleasurable combination. The menu on the website seems to be outdated, or maybe it’s the Philadelphia menu, as the New York portion of the site is still “Under Construction.” After almost a year, when are they planning to finish it?

I can tell you we absolutely loved Deviled Tuna Tartare ($10), Crab and Corn Fritters ($14), Crispy Taro Puff Lollipops with pork and ginger ($12), and shrimp dumplings, most of which came from the Dim Sum section of the menu. Peking duck ($44) is the most expensive entrée, and at that price I missed the show of having the bird carved tableside, as the better Chinese restaurants do. The pancakes were smallish, and in the dark room they were almost indistinguishable from the paper doilies that were used to keep them from sticking together. The duck was fine, if a bit oily. A side order of Chinese Sausage Fried Rice topped with a fried egg ($12) didn’t have much sausage in it.

There are a lot of rooms at Buddakan. The one we were in didn’t have the “wow” power of the rooms usually featured in photos, but it was comfortable and not overly crowded. In the style of modern “small-plate” restaurants, dishes are designed for sharing and brought out when ready. Our table couldn’t quite accommodate all that food as the appetizers started to pile up.

Service was a little bit confused. Two sets of wine glasses were deposited and removed, before a third set arrived to stay. My colleague chose the wine. They always show the bottle to you, but this is the first time I recall a dining partner saying, “That’s not what I asked for.” And indeed it wasn’t. We began the evening at the cocktail bar. There was no option to transfer the tab to our table, nor did the hostess offer to carry our drinks.

Buddakan is a fun place, and there are enough hits on the menu that I’d gladly go back. But it is not the polished restaurant its owner would like to imagine.

Buddakan (75 Ninth Avenue between 15th & 16th Streets, Chelsea)

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

A Tale of Two Steakhouses

For a more recent review of Craftsteak, click here. 

This week, I head meals at two steakhouses I’ve reviewed before: Wolfgang’s TriBeCa and Craftsteak. Both appear to be midlly struggling restaurants, although for different reasons. Wolfgang’s had lengthy opening delays. I’ve been in there twice now, and while the restaurant certainly doesn’t seem to be failing in any sense, it certainly doesn’t have the heavy crowds that the original Wolfgang’s did. It appears you can walk in just about any time and get a table.

Craftsteak ought to have been a sure bet, with a celebrity chef/owner (Tom Colicchio) who has been successful wherever he went and a brand name (Craft) that has always stood for quality. But the restaurant was pilloried in one review after another for the same highly peculiar reasons: Craftsteak didn’t know how to cook a steak; the menu was over-wrought and wordy. How hard could it be? Manhattan is overflowing with competent steakhouses. Surely steak is the one thing a steakhouse should know how to prepare. But apparently Craftsteak did not. In two separate interviews, Colicchio admitted they had blown it, and he even arranged an amicable split with partner Danny Meyer at Gramercy Tavern so that he could focus on his Craft properties.

At Wolfgang’s this week, I ordered the New York Strip. At $36.50, it is one of the better steak prices in New York City. It came sizzling hot, perfectly charred on the outside, achingly tender on the inside. The steak was sliced in the traditional Peter Luger style. My server not only served the first several slices, but kept returning to my table to serve more. For quality and attention, it could not be beat. Wolfgang’s is a traditional steakhouse, populated mostly by businessmen. It is not for everybody. But in its genre, Wolfgang’s is doing a superb job.

At Craftsteak too, it was no problem to just waltz in and ask for a table. Unlike Wolfgang’s, Craftsteak has the trappings of a high-end restaurant. I actually saw two tables with only women seated. There was a tasty amuse-bouche of a cube of goat cheese on a thin wafer. At the end of my meal, a plate of petits-fours was dropped off. Wolfgang’s has neither. Both restaurants have better-than-average bread service, but Craftsteak’s piping-hot Parker-house rolls in a cast-iron serving dish are some of the best in the city. A side dish of Wagyu confit potatoes was excellent.

Both the dinner and the dessert menu at Craftsteak are reprinted daily. (At Wolfgang’s, it probably won’t be reprinted until the prices go up.) The menu has changed considerably since the last time I saw it. It no longer prints the biography of every slaughtered cow it sells, although there is still a choice between grass-fed and corn-fed beef. The strip steak is now offered at three different ages (28, 42, and 56-day), rather than six. The Wagyu offerings have been simplified too. The old Craftsteak was offering far too many options.

But ultimately, we must judge a place like Crafsteak for its steak. And again last night, Craftsteak stumbled. I decided to splurge for the New York Strip aged 56 days. This is apparently the house’s signature item. At $52, it is the most expensive entrée you can order, except for Wagyu beef and steaks for two (porterhouse or ribeye, $88). I also thought it would be a useful comparison to the strip at Wolfgang’s, which is only $36.50.

Early on, Craftsteak was criticized for not putting a char on the outside of its steaks. The menu still says roasted, so I explicitly asked for a medium-rare temperature with charring on the outside. “Pittsburgh medium rare,” my server responded. I have never heard the term “Pittsburgh” applied to steak, but he assured me that this meant it would be charred. If the steak was charred, you could have fooled me. There was no char on the exterior that I could detect.

Inside, the steak was indeed medium rare, but it was tough and chewy. This is what 56-day aging gets you? Wolfgang’s doesn’t tell you how long their strip steak is aged, but for $15.50 less, the New York Strip at Wolfgang’s runs circles around Craftsteak.

I decided to give dessert a try. A pound cake topped with raspberries and ice cream was wonderful, as indeed was everything about Craftsteak that isn’t a steak. If Tom Colicchio could only figure out how to prepare a steak, he might have a three-star restaurant. But what good is a steakhouse that can’t do steak?

Wolfgang’s TriBeCa (409 Greenwich St. between Beach & Hubert Streets, TriBeCa)

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

Craftsteak (85 Tenth Avenue, between 15th and 16th Streets, Chelsea)

Food: mediocre steak, everything else very good or excellent
Service: **½
Ambiance: **½
Overall: *

Del Posto

In last week’s New York Post, Steve Cuozzo surveyed the scene on Tenth Avenue between 15th and 16th Streets, where three restaurants have opened to great fanfare in the last year — Del Posto, Morimoto, and Craftsteak — but all have had their troubles.

Craftsteak has been pummeled by the critics, after the peculiar decision to roast steaks instead of grilling or broiling them, as most diners prefer. Cuozzo reported that Craftsteak is “awaiting delivery of a broiler.” How anyone could open a steakhouse without a broiler utterly eludes me, especially when the owner is a savvy restauranteur like Tom Colliccio. About Morimoto I don’t have much to say, but it too has been mostly lambasted by the critics.

Reviews of Del Posto have been mixed. Frank Bruni awarded three stars — not the four that Mario Batali and his partners were hoping for, but better than it could have been. New York, as I recall, awarded only two, and that was on a five-star scale. Del Posto isn’t exactly hurting for business, but Cuozzo reported that a lower-priced Sunday menu has been quietly introduced. My friend and I had no trouble scoring a 6:15 p.m. table just a couple of days in advance.

Prices at Del Posto are all over the map. Some of the more ridiculously expensive items are now gone. The whole veal shank for $240 is no longer on offer, but risottos are $50–60 for two, which is ridiculous. All of the other pastas and main courses are far more reasonable. A special Sunday-only four-course menu is $49, while the chef’s tasting menu is $120 for ten courses.

Although it was the lure of Sunday bargains that brought us there, we chose the tasting menu. We were most impressed to find that a wine pairing was available for just $30. Many restaurants in Del Posto’s class would charge double that. To be sure, we got five small pours of relatively recent vintage, but the wines all worked well with the food, and at the price it was a bargain.

After an amuse-bouche of fried zucchini, our menu was as follows:

SALUMI MISTI with Erbazzone and Figs
Grilled SUMMER VEGETABLES with Ricotta di Buffala
Tocai Friulano, Bastianich 2004 Friuli

The house-cured salumi were one of the highlights of the meal, extremely fresh and tangy.

INSALATA di MARE with Prosciutto
PERCH with Truffled Green Bean Salad
Falanghina, Feudi di San Gregorio 2004 Campania

I found the seafood salad dull and rubbery, but the Perch was perfectly prepared.

GARGANELLI VERDI al Ragu Bolognese
RISOTTO with Funghi Misti
Morellino di Scansano “I Perazzi,” La Mozza 2004 Toscana

The pasta was just fine, although as my friend remarked, it was nothing she couldn’t have prepared at home. While eating the mushroom risotto, I couldn’t help but think, “This is what they charge $50 for.” It was a competent risotto, but fifty dollars? Give me a break.

Grilled RIB-EYE “Tagliata”
6-year PARMIGIANO-REGGIANO
Vespa Rosso, Bastianich 2002 Friuli

I’ve had bad luck with beef on tasting menus, which often seems a pale imitation of what the better steakhouses serve. But Del Posto’s rib-eye was first-class: wonderfully tender, and with a crisp char on the outside. The cheese course was again a bit of a dud. It’s wonderful to know that the parmigiano has been aged six years, but I found it overly sharp to the taste, and the accompaniments weren’t much help.

MELON SORBETTO
CROSTATA di Cioccolato
Moscato d’Asti “Sourgal,” Elio Perrone 2005 Piemonte

I enjoyed the melon sorbet. I must admit I’ve forgotten what the final course was like, but at this point I was so full that I felt they’d have to wheel me out of there. A generous plate of petits-fours went untouched.

The room at Del Posto is gorgeous. The tables are amply spaced. Service was friendly, but there were some glitches. After I used my fork to eat the amuse bouche, a server replaced it at my side, instead of bringing a clean one. It’s a minor point, but no four-star restaurant would do that. Later on, there was a speck of dust floating in my wine (they replaced it without complaint). Another table ordered the grilled whole fish. We watched the staff struggle to fillet it for what looked like 20 minutes. By now, Del Posto ought to have the staff who know how to fillet in their sleep.

For a couple of courses, the server’s description was mumbled to the point of being incomprehensible. Luckily we had a postcard-sized cheat sheet to look at (and which I brought home with me). Still, I had no idea that what looked like apricot slices that came with the parmigiano was in fact horseradish.

We enjoyed our meal at Del Posto — make no mistake about that. But both service and consistency have a ways to go if the restaurant aspires to four stars.

Del Posto (85 Tenth Avenue at 16th Street, Chelsea)

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