Asiate

You are not going to believe this review. I am writing from experience. Publish a favorable review of a restaurant totally off the media radar, and people say, “It just can’t be that good. This blogger doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

Say it all you want, but I’m sticking to my guns. For a certain type of elegant, special-occasion dining experience, Asiate in the Mandarin Oriental Hotel is superb. It does not warrant the 3½ stars I improvidently awarded it 5½ years ago. But neither does it deserve the one-star slam Amanda Hesser dumped on it in 2004. The argument is where in between Asiate should go.

No one, I think, will dispute that the room is beautiful, and the panoramic view over Central Park is perhaps the city’s best. Asiate is perennially at the top of the Zagat rating for décor, with 29 out of 30 points. (It gets 24 points for food and 25 for service, both well above average.)

But it is completely off the food media radar. Asiate doesn’t even try to get attention. Between hotel guests and those lured by lofty Zagat ratings, the restaurant doesn’t need any help: it was close to full on a Tuesday evening.

After the initial round of reviews in 2004, Asiate received practically no media mentions I’m aware of, aside from a review eighteen months ago by Alan Richman in QG. He was peeved—as I certainly would have been—when he requested a window table, called back to confirm he’d be getting one, and was still not seated near the window. (Besides that, he thought Asiate “in some ways . . . excellent.”)

Nothing like that happened to us: we were offered the choice and chose the window. Who wouldn’t?

The name—pronounced AH–zee–ott—suggests a vaguely Asian theme, translated as Western produce with pan-Asian spices and accents. Once upon a time, it would have been called Asian fusion, before that term went out of fashion. The opening chef is long gone. Brandon Kida is the current chef de cuisine. Although he’s been there from the restaurant’s inception, the menu is much changed from the one I wrote about in 2005. There’s no sign of the nouvelle cuisine that Amanda Hesser hated.

Asiate charges three-star prices: $85 for a three-course prix fixe, or $125 for an eight-course tasting menu. The tasting menu, which we had, is the better deal, in that it includes three dishes that normally carry supplements, albeit smaller portions of them.

It’s almost evil to plop down a dozen warm gougères (above left) in front of two hungry people. The bread service (above right) is very good, but the butter was cold.

The amuse bouche (above left) is a dainty fruit sphere, which explodes in your mouth. The first course (above right) was a quintet of tartares and crudi.

“Buckwheat and Eggs” (above left) is, I assume, a miniature version of an appetizer with the identical description that carries an $85 supplement on the prix fixe menu. It was also the evening’s best dish: soba noodles, Osetra caviar, and uni cream, all in superb balance.

Balance, indeed, torpedoed the next dish (above right), with a scallop, blue prawn, and crab meat. The individual ingredients were well prepared, but there was no idea that brought them together.

Sea Bass (above left) was beautifully done, complemented by a lovely ginger consommé. Butter poached lobster (above right) was slightly tough, and the accompanying vegetables had a grab-bag quality. (Compare the version of it that we had at Ai Fiori, which was much better.) But the same dish has disappointed me at Per Se, too.

Wagyu beef tenderloin (above left) can always be counted on for default luxury, and it was indeed excellent—perfect, really. The vegetables, again, had that grab bag quality.

Why serve one dessert when you can serve five (above right)? They were all good (if unremarkable), perhaps topped by the carrot cake (top left in the photo). And as it was my friend’s birthday, an extra piece of cake was on the house.

The wine list is a hefty tome and would repay repeated visits, if for no other reason. A 1981 Eitels Riesling was $95, which struck me as a very good price. (Afterward, I saw the 1990 vintage on the web at $60.)

Service in the dining room was excellent, once we were seated. But as Richman reported two years ago, the staff seem to have trouble finding you in the adjoining bar, even when you’ve checked in and told them you’re there. Service at said bar is too slow, bearing in mind the $19 tariff for a cocktail. But I loved the one I had, the Baby Buddha (Hendrick’s gin, fresh cucumber, cilantro, sake).

A tasting menu that offers Asiate’s greatest hits might not be typical of the average diner’s experience, ordering off of the prix fixe. But this was certainly a very good meal, one I wouldn’t hesitate to recommend.

Asiate (Mandarin Oriental Hotel, 80 Columbus Circle at 60th Street, 35th floor)

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

Boulud Sud

The word chef derives from a Latin word meaning chief, or head. It is, in other words, a managerial job, even though most of us think of chefs as “people who cook.” That, of course, is Daniel Boulud’s public persona. But running an empire of thirteen restaurants in six cities on three continents is more a test of management than of cooking, and in New York no one has a better success rate then Boulud.

With the opening of Boulud Sud (a Mediterranean-themed fine dining restaurant) and Épicerie Boulud (a sandwich and take-out place) across the street from Lincoln Center, Boulud is now up to eight Manhattan establishments. I believe he is the only restaurateur in town with six or more, who has never closed one. (His record out of town is more mixed: two Vancouver restaurants closed this year; a Las Vegas restaurant closed in 2010.)

Boulud’s Manhattan restaurants are all hits. If he ever has a slow night anywhere, I’ve never seen it. What is more remarkable, all of his restaurants remain recognizably French—a cuisine that is hardly fashionable in this town, to say the least.

Boulud’s closest analogue in New York, Jean-Georges Vongerichten, opens a steakhouse here, a Thai restaurant there, a Japanese one somewhere else, and so forth. Indeed, Vongerichten’s website promises, “A cuisine to suit every taste.” That’s not Boulud. Although his places span a wide range of formality, or the lack thereof, he doesn’t try to be something he’s not. That may be the key to his enduring success.

Boulud’s restaurants are critical hits, as well. Of the five that received “starred” reviews in The New York Times, all have the rating that I believe Boulud intends them to have (four at Daniel, three at Café Boulud, two at DB Bistro Moderne, Bar Boulud, and DBGB).

Boulud Sud and Épicerie Boulud build on the chef’s already successful Lincoln Center beachhead, where Bar Boulud has remained perpetually packed since it opened in 2008. As I noted at the time, there are at least 10,000 seats at the performing arts center, they are in use most nights of the year, and most of those people want to eat. It seemed remarkable that so few good restaurants were in the immediate vicinity.

Since Bar Boulud came along, prospects for dining at Lincoln Center have improved considerably, with Lincoln opening in a new space, and Ed’s Chowder House, and Atlantic Grill replacing formerly dreary alternatives. But Boulud is clearly betting that the neighborhood is not yet saturated, and judging by the crowds at these restaurants, he is probably right.

Boulud Sud is the most outwardly formal dining room that Boulud has opened in quite some time. Predictably, an Eater.com commenter called it “dated and stuffy”: the younger diners that restaurateurs covet are conditioned to break out into hives when they see a white tablecloth. Good for Boulud for bucking that trend. This is a comfortable, adult restaurant, lying at about the midpoint of between the bustling Bar Boulud around the corner and the quiet Café Boulud on the Upper East Side.

Servers and runners wear crisp white shirts and black vests. Boulud, leaving nothing to chance, brought in a brigade (many of them from his other restaurants) that practically outnumbers the guests. My immediate reaction, after falling in love with the room (nicer than the photo suggests), was to think: we are going to get taken care of here.

The Mediterranean theme gives Boulud license to wander from the south of France, to Italy and Morocco. You can easily dine here for under $40 per head, before alcohol. That probably won’t last, but for now Boulud Sud might be the best fine dining deal in town.

The menu, with its multiple categories, reminds me a bit of Café Boulud: “De La Mer” (fish and seafood), “Du Jardin” (vegetables), “De La Ferme” (meat and poultry). Within these categories, there’s a further subdivision into “small plates,” appetizers and entrées. Mains average around $25, and very few are over $30. The small plates and apps (the distinction being somewhat arbitrary) average around $12.

From the “small plates” section, a Tartine ($13; above left) offered four delicate canapés of crabmeat, sea urchin, and olives. Treviso Salad ($12; above right) was a simple, but effective combination of castelmagno cheese, speck ham, and aged balsamic.

Lamb Cleopatra ($23; above left) is lamb shoulder, slowly braised, and served with almonds and apricots: a hearty, satisfying dish. Daurade ($27; above right) is crisped on the plancha, served with vegetables on a Romesco sauce.

All of these dishes are slightly on the conservative side, as you would expect in a Boulud restaurant, but they were beautifully done, especially at the price. The Daurade, for instance, would easily be a $30+ entrée in many restaurants, without being any better.

It’s difficult to predict the trajectory of a restaurant on its third night of service, when the chef/owner has his A team on the floor, everyone is on best behavior, and the reservation book is being held down to 70 or 80 percent full. Boulud Sud will, if nothing else, be more expensive later on. If it becomes as busy as Bar Boulud, it might be a shade less charming.

But for now, Daniel Boulud has another hit on his hands.

Boulud Sud (20 W. 64th St. btwn Broadway & Central Park West, Upper West Side)

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

La Boite en Bois

La Boite en Bois, a Lincoln Center standby since 1985, fell off my radar in recent years. I’ve been there a few times, but until Saturday, probably not in the seven years I’ve been keeping this blog.

It’s rare that the coat-check girl is a restaurant’s smartest hire, but that just might be the case here. Walk in, and down a half-flight of stairs, and there she is, entoning “Bon soir, monsieur! Bon soir, madame!” When the website says that “you will feel as though you are in the countryside of France,” it is almost true. The cramped, rustic dining room really does transport you. I’d forgotten just how tight it is: this isn’t the place for a business deal or a seduction.

Appetizers are $8.50–13.50, entrées $19.50–30.50, but from 4:00 to 7:00 p.m., a $44 prix fixe is the only option. However, they offer almost their entire menu at that price. In contrast, Bar Boulud, a better restuarant, offers a $42 prix fixe, but your choices are limited to just three appetizers and three entrées.

Sausage with lentils is a perfect illustration: perfectly respectable, but nothing you’ll remember. It comes out in minutes and is obviously pre-made. The sausages were thicker and richer when I had the nearly identical dish at Bar Boulud in 2008. It was $16 there, but $9.50 here when ordered off the à la carte menu.

Roast salmon in a honey mustard crust, bathed in a rich cream sauce, was the best salmon I have had in a very long time, one of those sublime dishes that you wish would last forever. A similar preparation was the highlight of Bryan Miller’s one-star review for the Times, shortly after the restaurant opened.

For a pre-concert meal, reservations are mandatory. At 6:00 p.m. on a Saturday evening, the restaurant was already full, mostly with people headed to Lincoln Center. The staff is conditioned to get diners to their concerts on time, and this leads to some confusion. Wine was ordered, but never brought. A coffee was ordered; cappuccino came instead. Water glasses were not promptly refilled, and a spoon (rather than a fork) was the only utensil offered with a slice of cheesecake (housemade, and excellent).

La Boite en Bois (The Wooden Box) is one of many dozens of old-school French bistros that used to dot the city’s landscape, and if they’re a bit scarcer than they used to be, there are still plenty of them. They may be tough to tell apart, but this one delivers just enough charm to deserve a place on your pre-concert rotation.

La Boite en Bois (75 W. 68th St. near Columbus Ave., Upper West Side)

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

Ditch Plains

Note: Ditch Plains on the Upper West Side closed in September 2014, due to an unaffordable rent increase. Ditch Plains in the West Village remains open.

*

Ditch Plains opened last month on the Upper West Side. The critics will ignore it, because it’s a clone of Ditch Plains in the West Village, which is now five years old. In a way, that’s a shame. It’s not that chef Marc Murphy is doing anything original, but a civilized restaurant from a chef with some ability, where you can dine happily on $20 entrées, deserves a shout-out.

Murphy is obviously not a risk-taker, in more ways than one. Rather than try his hand at something new, he replicated a concept that was already successful downtown. That was the formula too, when he cloned his Tribeca hit Landmarc at the Time-Warner Center. The menus at these restaurants don’t change very often, and they hew mainly to readily recognized comfort-food classics that don’t challenge the diner.

Murphy obviously has talent, and you have to wonder what he could do, if he ventured outside of his comfort zone. Instead, he makes news by winning the judges’ vote at the South Beach Burger Bash. Mind you, even winning a burger contest requires ability. It’s obviously not a fluke, as Peter Meehan of the Times loved the burger too, in an otherwise lukewarm review of the original Ditch Plains. (The restaurant got a more favorable reception from the Underground Gourmet in New York.)

The obscure name refers to a beach in Montauk. Despite the burger and a few other sops to landlubbers, Ditch Plains is supposed to evoke a seafood shack, albeit a pretty large one with 165 seats. The most expensive entrées are a lobster roll ($26) and a marinated skirt steak ($24); all of the others are $22 or less.

My friend, who was not aware of the West Village branch, thought that the menu was designed to appeal to children—hence, mac and cheese, hot dogs, wings, chili, and so forth. I think it’s just a coincidence, but the restaurant is perfect for the stereotype Upper West Side stroller-toting couple. Indeed, you’ll probably be sharing the dining room with young families, which is either a selling point or a drawback, depending on your perspective.

It’s also close enough for a casual, inexpensive meal before the opera: less costly and less crowded than the Lincoln Center restaurants. Reservations aren’t taken for parties smaller than six, but we had no trouble walking in on a Friday evening. When we left, at around 7:15 p.m., the dining room was about half full.

The kitchen turned out a very good bowl of mussels and fries ($20) and a perfectly respectable grilled fish (red snapper, I believe; $20). An appetizer of spicy pork meatballs ($13) was the highlight, an ample portion slathered in fontina cheese and tomato sauce, with grilled sourdough bread.

In common with Murphy’s other restaurants, the wine list features an abundance of half bottles, an innovation at the time that others have copied (Bar Henry, Ciano), albeit not widely. That might be the most original thing Murphy has done.

Ditch Plains (100 W. 82nd Street at Columbus Avenue, Upper West Side)

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

Gastroarte née Graffit

Note: Gastroarte was called Graffit when this review was written. As noted below, the name was often mistaken for that of an unrelated restaurant, Graffiti. After the latter sued, Graffit changed its name to Gastroarte. For a more recent review, click here.

*

There isn’t exactly a glut of avant-garde Spanish cuisine in New York. One has to applaud chef Jesús Núñez’s gumption, if nothing else, in putting such a place in one of the city’s most conservative dining neighborhoods, the Upper West Side.

The chef was formerly a graffiti artist, so he chose the name Graffit—an unfortunate error, as a web search confuses it with the better known East Village restaurant, Graffiti. (On a google search for “graffit restaurant new york,” 7 of the first 10 hits, including the first four, were for Graffiti, not Graffit.) The reference isn’t that important anyway: the wall art at Graffit was created with spray paint, but not in a way that resembles the graffiti New Yorkers are familiar with.

There are fumbles in the menu design, as well. Diners seated in the bar area receive a tapas list ($6–14), while those in the dining room get a separate menu with traditional appetizers ($10–18) and entrées ($23–27). The distinction between bar and table dining is blurry these days; offering different menus to two classes of guests just creates confusion.

We were seated in the dining room, and therefore didn’t receive the tapas menu. A Mouthfuls poster who did, said that the tapas are so amply portioned that two of them would be a sufficient snack for four people, which somewhat contradicts the whole point of tapas.

In the dining room, the appetizers are generously portioned, too. We ordered five of them to share: we went home stuffed, and we didn’t even finish them.

Although we liked all but one of our appetizers, they tended to cloy. Normally, appetizers are sized for one person. Most of these dishes were just too heavy or too monotonic for that: you wouldn’t want to finish them.

However, you get plenty for your money: the food bill for two was just $62, and that included a dual amuse bouche (above right) and petits fours (bottom right) at the end.

“Not Your Average Egg” ($13; above left) is a seasonal vegetable stew. This was one of our favorites, although it ought to have been a shade warmer. The “Egg” in the middle is actually cauliflower molded around a runny egg yolk.

Carrot “Cake” ($11.50; above right) is a savory carrot dish with cheese and asparagus. This was one of those dishes that started out well, but was too overwhelming for even two people to finish.

Oxtail Ravioli ($13.50; above left) with apple and sunchoke cream sounded promising, but it came to the table lukewarm. Fried Squid Spheres ($12; above right) with roasted pepper, lemon, and saffron mayonaise are a wonderful idea, but it’s another dish that I was glad to be sharing. Two spheres per person was enough, and the dish had five.

Beef Tongue ($12; above left) was an ample enough portion to be an entrée, with two hefty pieces of tongue—deep fried, I believe. It’s another good dish that I wouldn’t have wanted to finish alone.

The restaurant occupies the lower level of an Upper West Side townhouse. The layout resembles a railroad apartment, with four thematically distinct spaces: communal tables up front for walk-ins, a bar, a dining room, and a rear atrium with skylights that can be opened in good weather. With exposed brick walls and no tablecloths or curtains to absorb sound, the space gets a bit noisy when full.

Despite some errors of concepion and execution, there is obvious potential in this cuisine. The menu is not static, as there were several announced specials (including the tongue dish). With some refinement, Graffit could make the leap to compelling from merely promising. Located just three blocks north of Lincoln Center, it’s a welcome addition to the pre-concert dining scene. The only question is whether this traditionally conservative neighborhood will embrace it.

Graffit (141 W. 69th St. between Broadway and Columbus Ave., Upper West Side)

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

Fish Tag

The history of chef Michael Psilakis has become the culinary equivalent of “The House that Jack Built.” Every time he opens a new place, you need to tell the story of all the previous ones, to understand what is going on.

His newest, Fish Tag, is his fourth on the same site that was once home to Onera (very good), Kefi (good), and Gus & Gabriel Gastropub (awful). He has also done five places with the restaurateur Donatella Arpaia, including Anthos (excellent, but closed), Dona (not bad; now closed), Mia Dona (where he is no longer involved), a larger version of Kefi (mediocre), and the restaurant Eos in Miami.

Where those restaurants failed, Psilakis’s cooking usually wasn’t at fault. (To go into the reasons, Jack’s House would become a whole subdivision.) Onera, Anthos, Dona, and Mia Dona, all got two stars from the Times, and Anthos should have had three. Kefi was good before it moved to a space far too large for its own good. That leaves Gus & Gabriel as Psilakis’s only outright failure (though he claims it will be reincarnated in Brooklyn), amidst a long line of successes.

At Fish Tag, the chef is once again in his sphere. It offers mainly a seafood menu—not overtly Greek, but in the same imaginative modern Greek style that was successful at Onera and Anthos. It’s more elaborate than the former, but less fancy than the latter. The layout was gutted and replaced with a sleek, elegant design that’s the best I’ve ever seen it. The dining room now seats 60 (it was formerly 75). There are now three separate bar counters that seat 30 between them.

Psilakis is hedging his bets, so Fish Tag doubles as a wine bar. To that end, many of the wines are available in three-ounce, six-ounce, or half-bottle pours, and the menu includes plenty of cheeses and cured meats for bar patrons who might not want a full meal. On the main menu, the entrées top out at $26, and there’s the ever-present $16 burger that shows up in most restaurants these days.

There are some blunders that could cost Fish Tag a whole star. After you sit down, the server utters the seven words most dreaded in the Western culinary canon: “Let me explain how our menu works.” But you really need the explanation this time. Although Fish Tag has traditional appetizers and entrées, they aren’t so stated on the menu. Instead, the items are arranged from “lightest” to “heaviest,” with appetizers in red and entrées in black.

Groups of menu items are lassoed with large curly braces, next to which are written the spirits (wines, beers, scotches, etc.) that purportedly go with them. As if this wasn’t enough to learn, some items are marked with a “§” sign, which means (a footnote tells us) that they may be ordered “simply grilled” with potato and broccoli rabe.

You might think this was enough complexity, but there’s more. While the wines are listed on the back of the food menu, a separate menu lists the hard liquors, ice creams, coffees, teas (“please allow five minutes for stepping”), cheeses, cured meats, and “appetizing.”

Appetizing? That’s the Jewish word for the food usually served with bagels, such as lox and other smoked fish. At our table, we received two copies of the food menu, but just one of the cheese-meat-appetizing-everything-else menu.

The good news is that once you’ve figured out how to order, Fish Tag becomes a delightful restaurant.

Young Pecorino “Saganaki,” or Sheep’s Milk Cheese ($12; above left) with lemon, garlic, and almonds, comes sizzling in a cast-iron skillet. It’s wonderful; yet, we could easily have missed it: it’s the bottom entry on the cheese menu.

Smoked Sable ($9; above right), one of ten choices from the appetizing menu, has a rich, smokey taste. 

Branzino Stuffed with Head Cheese ($26; above left) is a stunning creation, and dare we say, critic bait. The menu doesn’t say whose head it’s made with (presumably lamb), but once you get past the “ick” factor it’s a brilliant dish—vintage Psilakis. Striped Bass ($23; above right), simply grilled, is a less elaborate creation, but excellent nonetheless.

The wine list is delightful, with plenty of good buys at the $50-and-under level, my benchmark for this type of restaurant. Côtes du Roussillon Villages Latour de France is an appellation I’ve never seen before. The 2008 M. Chapoutier “Occultum Lapidem” ($45; label at right) has a light, fruity taste not unlike some Burgundies, making it a terrific red wine to go with fish. It was one of many that we could have had by the glass or the half-bottle, but we went ahead and ordered a full bottle.

I photographed the label (right) after the sommelier explained that, in honor of a former blind resident of the estate, all of the wine labels from this producer are printed in braille.

At times, Fish Tag seems just a tad too precious for its own good. Tap water comes in clear glass jugs, the size of one full glass, each with its own rubber stopper, which the server removes just before setting it on the table.

But even more precious is the collection of white porcelain cake plates, which are used for serving many different items, including the smoked fish. It looks impressive, but it’s a bit awkward to eat off of an elevated pedestal.

Those idiosyncrasies aside, the service and wine program are in very good shape for a month-old restaurant. The general manager and wine director aren’t credited on the menu, nor is anyone credited at ChefDB, but whomever Psilakis hired is earning their keep. The restaurant was full, and running smoothly, at 7:00 p.m. on a Saturday evening.

Even if Fish Tag is a bit over-thought (particularly the color-coded menu), we were impressed with the food—the way we had been with Psilakis’s earlier restaurants, before he lost his way in the last couple of years. Will Psilakis stick around long enough to ensure Fish Tag remains relevant? Or will he hop to a new project after the reviews are in? Ryan Skeen is assisting in the kitchen, but no one expects that to last: it’s the serial job-hopper’s seventh restaurant in three years.

Let’s hope that Psilakis has learned his lessons well, and that he’ll make Fish Tag his main focus. This is where he belongs.

Fish Tag (222 W. 79th St. between Broadway & Amsterdam Ave., Upper West Side)

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

Atlantic Grill at Lincoln Center

 

“Did you remember to call ahead?”

At Atlantic Grill at Lincon Center, that’s the new euphemism for, “Do you have a reservation?” I guess reservations smack of privilege and favors, while calling ahead is merely having one’s act together. No worries, though. Atlantic Grill has ample bar seating — first come, first served — for those who didn’t “call ahead.”

The rhythm of the evening is defined by whatever is playing across the street. The alert host knows the starting time and the program at every Lincoln Center venue, even when diners do not. Customer: “Doesn’t the Met start at eight o’clock?” Host: “No, the Met’s at seven tonight. They’re doing Don Carlo.” He proceeds to rattle off the times at every other theater, just to show it’s no fluke. But he’s good at what he needs to be, which is getting diners to their shows on time.

This is the second Atlantic Grill in Manhattan, approximately the fifteenth production (still in business) of prolific restaurateur Stephen Hanson. None of them are great. Hanson’s only stab at excellence was Fiamma, which he closed during the recession. But most of his restaurants are at least competent, and a few are better than that. (Primehouse New York is my favorite Hanson place—though I haven’t tried them all.)

The menu at Atlantic Grill, as you might guess, is mainly fish and seafood. Steve Cuozzo gave it three stars in last week’s Post, which is ridiculous. It is not as good as Ed’s Chowder House a few blocks away, but it is good enough to be a dependable “when-you’re-in-the-neighborhood” place. Neither the food nor the prices will offend anyone, with appetizers in the teens, entrées mostly in the $20s.

I love it when restaurants serve house-made bread, with butter soft enough for spreading. The odd-shaped version of it here, clearly meant for sharing (but served that way to solo diners too), came out of the oven warm: crisp outside and soft inside.

I am not fond of sushi bars in Western restaurants. It feels like pandering. Either open a Japanese restaurant, or don’t open one. The menu here offers a modest selection of sushi, sashimi, and maki rolls. The omakase is $32, and how good could that be?

The list of standard appetizers was incredibly boring (standard soups and salads), so I succumbed to a crispy tempura oyster roll (below left), which was offered as an off-the-menu special. It was just fine, but also instantly forgettable.

 

Arctic Char ($27; above right) was more impressive: the skin was crisp, the fish tender, and the accompaniments were no afterthought: French lentils, honeycrisp apples, turnips, and whole grain mustard. If the appetizers showed this level of thought, Atlantic Grill might be a two-star restaurant.

The by-the-glass wine list was uninteresting. Service was friendly and efficient, and there was none of the upselling that one often encounters at this kind of restaurant.

The space used to be the venerable O’Neals’. Numerous walk-in guests seemed perplexed, asking the host what had happened to their old standby. Most of them stayed, and I suspect they were happy. Atlantic Grill is better than O’Neals’. It offers the safe, reliable, fairly-priced food that a pre-theater crowd wants.

Atlantic Grill (49 W. 64th St., east of Broadway, Upper West Side)

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

Jean Georges

It took me a while to become a fan of Jean Georges. It’s not that I disliked it; but I didn’t quite get the case for four stars. After my fourth visit, last night, I’m smitten. It’s not that every course was uniformly superb: a couple of items wobbled a bit, and wouldn’t earn four stars on their own. But the experience on the whole is among the best that New York City has to offer.

Although no one goes to a four-star restaurant seeking bargains, it’s worth noting that the four-course prix fixe at Jean Georges ($98) is lower than that of Daniel (three courses, $105), Le Bernardin (four courses, $112), Eleven Madison Park (four courses, $125), or Per Se (nine courses, $275). And Jean Georges was available on OpenTable at 8:00 p.m. on a Tuesday evening with under a week’s notice. The others weren’t.

Vongerichten’s cuisine at its best, interpreted nowadays by Chef de Cuisine Mark Lapico, marries sweet and sour flavors in ways that make you smile. It’s not that no one else has a good crab cake, but no one pairs it with a pink peppercorn mustard and exotic fruits that make such a vivid impression.

I was gratified to see a smattering of wines under $50 — not a ton of them, but you often don’t see any at a place this expensive. At a restaurant like Jean Georges, you are pretty much assured that nothing they serve is plonk. A 2006 Trousseau Lornet from Jura was only $46, and it was one of the most enjoyable wines we’ve had in quite a while. The Jura wines are practically always worthwhile, and because few patrons order them, they’re usually a bargain.

I’m going to keep the food comments to a minimum, and let the photos do most of the talking.

First up was a trio of amuses-bouches (above left) — I believe a black truffle fritter (12:00), fluke sashimi (4:00) and a hot cucumber soup (10:00). Our appetizers were the Santa Barbara Sea Urchin (above right) with jalapeno and yuzu on black bread; and a Jean Georges classic, the Foie Gras Brulee (below left) with fig jam.

As it was my birthday, we sprang for the White Truffle Rissoto ($35pp), which was as intense as any truffle dish I’ve had.

The fish courses were perhaps the best examples of the kitchen’s talent for flavor combinations: the Turbot (above left) with château Chalon Sauce; and the Crispy Crab (above right) with pink peppercorn mustard and exotic fruits.

Parmesan Crusted Organic Chicken (above left) with artichoke, basil, and lemon butter, was just a shade on the dry side, but nevertheless very good. Maine Lobster ($15 supplement, above right) came with perfect black truffle gnocchi and a fragrant herbal broth.

Jean Georges may have the best dessert program of the four-star places, given that each dessert is actually a quartet. We had the Late Harvest (above left) and Chocolate (above right).

The “birthday cake” (more like a flan) was obviously a comped extra; but beyond that was a blaze of petits fours and house-made marshmallows that a party double our size couldn’t have finished.

We were seated at one of the two alcove tables, which the restaurant generally reserves for VIPs or special-occasion guests (I think we were the latter) — clearly the best place to sit, if you can get it. Service was superb.

Jean Georges (1 Central Park West at 60th Street, Upper West Side)

Cuisine: Modern French with Asian accents, beautifully executed
Service: Elegant and luxurious
Ambiance: A comfortable room in soft biege with views of Central Park

Rating: ★★★★

Lincoln

Note: Click here for a more recent review of Lincoln Ristorante.

Restaurants attached to performing arts centers, much like those attached to airports, don’t have the best reputations.

Why, then, did Jonathan Benno, the former chef de cuisine at Per Se, attach himself to the corporately-named Lincoln, owned and run by specialists in mediocrity, the Patina Restaurant Group?

There was much navel-gazing as the owners debated what to call the place. “Benno” was a possibility, but what if the chef left? “Sud” (suggesting its Southern Italian emphasis) was considered, but diners might’ve thought it rhymed with “dud.” (The correct Italian pronunciation is more like “sood.”)

So they arrived at the generic “Lincoln,” which tells you where you are, but nothing about what you will eat. That name, like everything else at this restaurant, screams “compromise.” The architects Diller Scofidio + Renfro built a spectacular glass-enclosed space with vistas onto the Lincoln Center performing campus, and a slanted lawn on the roof. The owners presumably got their wish: if Chef Benno moves on, another culinary concept could quickly be substituted without re-decorating.

The half-open kitchen is a severe blunder, inviting customers to dine on the shrill sound of Benno barking out orders at the pass. The lack of tablecloths doesn’t offend us, but we suspect it was yet another compromise, intended to make Lincoln seem more inviting to casual diners. But who exactly would those diners be, when the antipasti and pastas are mostly in the mid-to-high $20s, and entrées mostly in the mid-to-high $30s?

The question here is not whether Chef Benno can cook, but whether the concept makes sense as a restaurant. As presently conceived, I do not think it does. But there are some very smart people with a lot of money invested in this place, and I assume they will make adjustments.

My photo of the bread service didn’t come out, but it began with crackers slathered in pork fat and addictive bread sticks. Later, three different kinds of bread came out, along with soft butter and olive oil. The amuse bouche (below left) was an underwhelming deep-fried chickpea cake with eggplant dip.

We ordered the terrine of foie gras, rabbit, and sweetbreads to share ($28; above right), and the kitchen sent out two half-portions on separate plates. It’s a rich, deeply enjoyable starter.

The Lasagne Verde ($26; below left) appears on the menu without quotation marks, but perhaps it needs them. Made with veal, beef, pork, and a béchamel sauce, it’s a play on the traditional dish, rather than a faithful recreation, but extremely good in its way.

The current menu offers a white truffle pasta dish for $100. For that, they bring out the truffle on a silver platter and shave it tableside.

We got a junior-sized version of the dish with the kitchen’s compliments, as our entrée was taking a while. It may seem ingracious to complain about a dish served for free, but the gnocchi were leathery, and served in a pool of pedestrian veal jus. I wouldn’t be a happy man if I had paid for that.

There’s always a steak for two on the menu. Sometimes it’s ribeye ($130); on other days, its sirloin ($90). On Saturday, it was ribeye, presented at the table (above left), then whisked away to be sliced (above right).

While $130 isn’t too far above the going rate in New York for a premium aged prime ribeye for two, this wasn’t one of the better ones. There was no exterior char, and it lacked the deep, dry-aged flavor that steakhouses far less expensive than Lincoln have mastered. It came with a side order of potatoes (below left) and a perfunctory plate of greens.

We were too full for dessert, but the petits-fours (above) were a pretty good substitute, even if they weren’t a patch on what came out of the kitchen at Per Se—not that they should be.

Service was commensurate with the three-star rating Lincoln aspires to. Our reservation was at 8:00 p.m., around the time I expected Lincoln to be slowing down, on the assumption that most of its business comes from those attending concerts. It actually got busier after 8:00, so it is clearly not relying on the performing arts center.

The foie gras terrine and the lasagne demonstrated the potential of Lincoln’s kitchen; the gnocchi and the steak demonstrated that it still has a long way to go. I am sure that Chef Benno will do his damnedest to iron out the mistakes, but diners will be paying the freight while he does. Dinner for two, including a $60 bottle of wine, was $282 before tax and tip.

Lincoln (142 West 65th Street at Lincoln Center)

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

Sookk

 

Sookk came to my attention a month or two ago, when I noticed that eGullet’s Fat Guy had pronounced it the best Thai restaurant in the city—better than most people’s favorite, SriPraPhai in Woodside, Queens. A guy in the Eater comments had the same opinion—but so far, they’re the only ones.

I shy away from proclaiming the “Best…” anything, even in dining genres where I believe I have sampled all or most of the plausible candidates. So I would never make such a claim about Thai food, which I have only a few times a year.

Based on my experience, limited though it may be, I thought that Sookk was above average, and certainly worth a visit. if you don’t mind a trip to 103rd & Broadway. According to my twitter feed, the Columbia students love this place, and I can see why. The prix fixe lunch is just $7. Our dinner for two was just $60, and that included a bottle of sparkling wine that might have been $60 all by itself in some restaurants. Certainly, in terms of value per dollar, it’s hard to beat this place.

But I found the food too mild. Several dishes carried the warning that they came with the extra-spicy special house sauce. We were cautioned to add it sparingly, as they would not be returnable if we went too far. After the appetizer failed to register, I unloaded all of the available sauce into the entrée, and still couldn’t find much heat to speak of.

Having said that, the food was carefully prepared, attractively presented, and mostly enjoyable. I certainly would not hesitate to return. I just find it hard to believe that it’s the city’s best.

 

The Assorted Golden Fritters ($7; above left) was our favorite dish, with an assortment of crispy chicken, shrimp dumplings, shitake spring rolls, blanketed shrimps, and sesame tofu. There wasn’t the slightest hint of grease, and a sweet chili sauce supplied just the right amount of heat. Even the tofu—and I am not a tofu guy—was wonderful.

A so-called Fiery Thai Beef Tartare ($5; above right) wasn’t very fiery at all. It’s hard to tell from the photo (which I shot after I’d spoiled the kitchen’s careful plating), but there’s a black rice cake underneath that heaping pile of seasoned beef. It’s actually a witty combination, as the rice cake somewhat resembled a hamburger patty—thus, the dish was reversing the usual order of the ingredients. For five bucks, the beef was obviously not aged prime, but I cannot fault it in a five-dollar dish.

 

Much of the menu consists proteins, to which you add your choice of accompaniments. Duck in Green Curry ($14; above left) was insipid and forgettable.

Thai Paella ($15; above right) was on a separately printed list, alleged to be the “weekly specials,” although the sheet was so dog-eared it could have dated from the Bush Administration. An abundant helping of rice was slightly on the greasy side; finding the seafood (shrimp, scallops, mussels) required a small fishing expedition. The secret sauce, as I mentioned, didn’t add much. Perhaps they ought to leave Paella to the Spanish.

The small space is inexpensively but attractively decorated in multi-colored fabrics. Tables are close together, but when families enter with strollers, the staff make room. They were about 80 percent full on a Saturday evening: we arrived without a reservation and were seated immediately. Service was a bit slow, but we were in no hurry and didn’t mind. 

If I sound a bit negative, perhaps it is only because we came in with high expectations. With the various combinations of proteins and broths, there are probably a hundred different dishes here, of which we sampled only a few. (I am fully prepared for someone to write in the comments, “You ordered wrong.”) Still, this should not take away from Sookk’s many charms. If you are looking for better-than-average neighborhood Thai cuisine, you’ll enjoy Sookk; we certainly did.

Sookk (2686 Broadway between 102nd & 103rd Streets, Upper West Side)

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