Betony

For an impressive pedigree, you can’t beat the two guys running Betony, the new New American restaurant in West Midtown.

The chef is Bryce Shuman, a former executive sous chef at Eleven Madison Park. The GM is Eamon Rockey, who ran the cocktails at EMP before helping to launch Compose, Atera, and then Aska.

The owner, Moscow native Andrey Dellos, inspires less confidence. He’s the guy behind the Meatpacking District horror Manon. He also owned Betony’s predecessor in this space, the lavish Russian-themed Brasserie Pushkin, which got mixed reviews, was ignored in The Times, and lasted just nine months.

In turning to Shulman and Rockey, Dellos apparently realized that he needed a team with New York street cred. Their presence more-or-less guarantees that the critics will at least visit the place.

But the renovations are a half-measure that, I fear, has not gone far enough. Having invested enough in Brasserie Pushkin to buy a small château (around $5 million), Dellos apparently wasn’t willing to lose all of his sunk costs. So Betony is Brasserie Pushkin lite, the décor revised but still recognizably the same space.

The restaurant’s name, taken from an herb cultivated since ancient times for its reputed medicinal properties, is perhaps not the best.

I like a spot like Betony, with its plush chairs, soft lighting, and crisp tablecloths. I’m in the minority these days. I worry that the downtown crowd that know Shulman and Rockey from their previous gigs will take one step in the door, and find it an instant turn-off. They shouldn’t, but I’m a realist. If Betony needs to rely mainly on a midtown audience, I wonder if perhaps the food is too intellectual for the less adventurous diners that populate West Midtown near Carnegie Hall.

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Auden

Auden is the new restaurant in the Ritz-Carlton Hotel on Central Park South, in the space that used to be BLT Market, and before that Atelier. The name is Old English for “old friend,” and has nothing to do with the poet W. H. Auden.

The new décor, from starchitect David Rockwell, is in the muscular, country club style that he has deployed all over town. It’s a comfortable, upscale but not fancy space, more suited to a business meeting than a romantic night out.

The chef, Mark Arnao, comes from a career of hotel gigs. The menu trumpets a commitment to local produce, in a fashion that is now so commonplace that it’s old hat.

This is the Ritz, and you’re going to pay a premium for the privilege of dining here. Appetizers are $18–23, entrees $32–46, side dishes $10–12. Cocktails are $18, and you’ll pay north of $60 for most bottles of wine.

What you’ll get is standard American bistro cuisine. Though not at all inventive or adventurous, the food is well prepared, as it ought to be at these prices. But in other neighborhoods, without the Central Park premium, you can find similar quality for $20–30 less per person.

The meal begins with an excellent bread service, a tray of warm rolls (above left).

 

The Flatbread ($22; above left) is made with heirloom tomatoes, Buffalo mozzarella, crushed olives, and fried capers. It’s an enjoyable dish that two could easily share. I didn’t try my friend’s Duck Confit and Chicory Salad ($23; above right), but he wasn’t especially impressed with it.

 

We both had the barbecue beef short ribs ($36; above left) in a roasted shallot sauce, a good enough dish if only you can forget how expensive it is. For reference, Il Buco Alimentari offers a better short rib dish for $38, and theirs serves two. However, Il Buco doesn’t serve it with the Auden Frites (above right), which are excellent.

Little pieces of chocolate on lollipop sticks (right) are what pass for petits fours.

The service was polite, friendly and efficient—as it ought to be. Really, there’s nothing much to complain of at Auden. There’s a steep price premium for dining on Central Park South, but you’ll pay that at any of the various hotels in the area.

Auden (The Ritz-Carlton Hotel, 50 Central Park South at Sixth Ave., West Midtown)

Food: Expensive American bistro cuisine
Service: Crisp, efficient, competent
Ambiance: A masculine, clubby hotel setting

Rating: ★
Why? If you must spend Central Park prices, you might as well do so here

Gaonnuri

You might think of Manhattan’s Koreatown as one nondescript low-class barbecue place after another. That would be unjust to one, at least: Gaonnuri, a new upscale spot with a $5+ million opening budget.

What did all that money buy? A stunning space on the 39th floor of a midtown office building, where Koreatown meets Herald Square. It’s the brainchild of architect Andy Sung, a native Korean, who saw the potential in a formerly windowless top-floor that once held ventilation and mechanical equipment.

Sung needs to sell a lot of barbecue to get that money back. Gaonnuri seats 250, and it was no more than 10 percent full on a recent evening, although the Post’s Steve Cuozzo found it busy at lunch.

It isn’t easily found. From the outside, there’s no indication that the building houses a restaurant. When you go in, a hostess checks your name on a reservation list, and only then allows you past the skyscraper’s security system, and onto the elevator.

It makes SHO Shaun Hergatt seem positively easy to get to, and we know how that turned out. Once you’re in, the décor is spectacular, but to some it may feel like a generic upscale Asian hotel restaurant (another charge unfairly leveled at Hergatt).

No one will complain about the unobstructed panoramas of the Empire State Building and the Hudson River. Cuozzo says that these are the best restaurant views since the Rainbow Room closed, and I’ve no reason to doubt him.

Prices are higher than the Koreatown average, but certainly not extortionate, as they tend to be at restaurants with views. The menu is lengthy and a bit confusing. There’s a list of cold and hot dishes that seem to be appetizers, but most of them come in small ($8–15) and large ($15–26) sizes.

Entrées, found on another page, are $15–28. Korean Barbecue is a separate listing, with individual portions $25–34 and platters for two at $60, $90, or $120. Hotpots are $50 for two people.

Cocktails ($10–13) and beers ($7–8) are comparatively inexpensive, and the wine list has plenty of bottles below $50. However, I chose an imported Korean bottled beverage, the Chamisul Fresh ($16; above right), which I can’t begin to describe.

We started with the Sanchae Bibimbap ($18), one of eight varieties of the dish offered here: a serving of mixed vegetables, shown in the photo (above) before it was mixed into a bowl of rice. It appears on the menu as an entrée, though we shared it as a starter.

Yes, I said it’s a bit confusing.

 

We ordered the $60 barbecue platter, which starts with a salad that resembles cole slaw (above left) and a spicy soup (above right).

 

There’s a wide variety of condiments and sauces (above left), and I didn’t photograph all of them, along with three meats (above right): beef brisket, pork belly, and galbi, a marinated beef short rib.

 

As at other Korean barbecue spots, there’s a grill built into every table. As the restaurant was fairly empty, the server cooked the food for us, although when it’s busy I assume this is left up to the customer. The food was excellent, with high-quality ingredients, well prepared.

Gaonnuri is only about a month old. Service is extremely attentive, but the kinks haven’t been worked out. Some of the servers can’t quite explain the menu—or at least, not in English. Bar tabs aren’t transferred to the table.

Is Gaonnuri for you? I didn’t mind spending $120 for two (before tip) for a comfortable, quiet dinner in a gorgeous space, with the best views in town. But you can go down the block, eat in a low-class space, with the food not as good, and spend a lot less. This is a Korean barbecue I’d go back to; the others aren’t.

How they expect to fill 250 seats every night is a good question.

Gaonnuri (1250 Broadway at 32nd Street, 39th Floor, Koreatown)

Food: Very good classic Korean cuisine, highlighted by the barbecue
Service: Attentive and doting, though still learning the rops
Ambiance: A stunning multi-million-dollar space with the best views in town

Rating: ★★
Why? Probably the best Korean barbecue in town, though you’ll pay up for it 

Del Frisco's Grille

A stripper once told me I ought to check out Del Frisco’s Double Eagle Steak House.

I never got around to it: I avoid national chains (there are nine Del Frisco’s), and the reviews were mixed. The Robs at New York Magazine loved it; Bloomberg’s Ryan Sutton the opposite.

The steakhouse has a little brother, Del Frisco’s Grille, in four cities with a fifth on the way. You can order steaks there too, but the menu is broader, more casual, and less expensive. Full disclosure: we visited at the publicist’s invitation and did not pay for our meal.

In New York (one of two cities that has both a steakhouse and a grille), the two places are close by, on opposite sides of Rockefeller Center. From local businesses and business travelers, to Radio City, Top of the Rock, and holiday shoppers, there’s a steady flow of visitors with disposable income.

Del Frisco’s Grille isn’t, strictly speaking, a steakhouse, but it very well could be. It has a muscular, distinctly masculine décor. The space was bustling on a recent Thursday evening, with what looked like a mostly young, after-work crowd that skewed single and available, especially at the bar.

The menu is divided into nine categories, many of them with dumb names like “Food to Fight Over” (appetizers and bar food), “Ruffage” (the word “salads” wasn’t available?), “Knife & Fork” (as if we’d eat the rest with our hands?), or “Lil’ Somethin’ Somethin’” (side dishes).

Who are they’re impressing with such gimmickry? It just screams “suburbia,” and reinforces the perception of Del Frisco’s as not really serious.

Well, I’m not going to tell you that it’s destination cuisine—it’s not, and you wouldn’t believe me if I said otherwise. But for what it is, the ingredients at Del Frisco’s Grille are a cut above the norm at such places, and the food is prepared well.

The menu is a mix of items dictated by the corporate office and others adjusted to local custom. The chef, Scott Kroener, who has been here since the restaurant opened a year ago, serves the chain menu and introduces his own recipes, within the confines of a prescribed template.

Broadly: the salad and appetizer-like items are in the $9–18 range, entrées $19–44, sandwiches $16–19, and sides $9–12.

  

The Crabcake ($19; above left) is unorthodox: all lump crabmeat without breading, inside a moat of cajun lobster sauce. The Ahi Tacos ($18; above center) are made with tuna tartare, avocado, and a spicy citrus mayo. Cheesesteak Eggrolls ($15; above right), with chili sauce and honey mustard, are surprisingly good.

If I could order again, I’d choose the Cheesesteak Eggrolls, and yes, that surprises me. My girlfriend would probably choose the tacos.

  

Bacon-wrapped scallops (above left) in a vinaigrette dressing were an off-menu special. The chef said it’s one of his favorites, but it wasn’t one of mine. But I did very much like the Heirloom Tomato and Burrata salad ($18; above center). If that’s typical of the other salads, it could easily be a shared appetizer. Bread rolls (above right) were served warm, and the butter was soft, the way I prefer it.

  

Del Frisco’s wet-ages most of its steaks, which could explain why it’s not considered a top-tier steakhouse in this dry-aged town. The chef has added a dry-aged bone-in New York strip to the menu (above center). It won’t challenge Minetta Tavern, but it can give most other places a run for their money. We also sampled a wet-aged specimen, the filet ($44; above left), which like most filets was more tender but less flavorful than the strip.

Both steaks were a bit over-seasoned with salt and pepper, an objection the chef is aware of, and which has been mentioned in some online reviews. I am not sure why he keeps doing it. All three sides (above right) were capably done: the Truffled Mac & Cheese, the “Spinach Supreme”, and the Asparagus (all $12).

  

The desserts were top-notch. You’d need a big appetite to finish them. I couldn’t really choose between the Nutella bread pudding and coffee ice cream with caramel sauce (above left), the Crème brûlée cheesecake with apple cinnamon compote (above center), or the cocnut cream pie with white chocolate shavings (above right).

The space is a bit louder than I’d like, though I’m sure it’s to many people’s tastes: raucous restaurants exist for a reason. We received the white glove treatment, so I can’t comment on the typical service experience.

The cocktails, mostly vodka-based, are sweeter than my preference. I liked best the Del’s Derby (Maker’s Mark, muddled orange, mint leaves, simple syrup, soda). There’s also a 700-bottle wine list, which we didn’t explore.

Del Frisco’s Grille isn’t really part of New York food culture, and doesn’t really try to be. It’s a national chain, designed to deliver reproducible upscale comfort. The best indication of its potential is the dry-aged bone-in New York strip, which is the local chef’s idea, and is not on the corporate menu. Order that, and the heirloom tomato salad, and you could be happy here.

Del Frisco’s Grille (50 Rockefeller Plaza, 51st Street, between Fifth & Sixth Avenues)

Má Pêche

It’s a bit sad to watch David Chang’s team at Má Pêche fumble their way around. Chang’s Momofuku restaurants in the East Village practically defined their era in the mid-aughts. They remain crowded and popular today.

It hasn’t gone as well in midtown, where Chang was tone deaf to a clientele comprised of mainly tourists, shoppers, and business travelers, in a neighborhood that hardly anyone considers a nightlife destination.

If it were a standalone place, Má Pêche would be closed by now. But it’s in the Chambers Hotel, which guarantees a captive audience. A hotel without dining is considerably less useful to prospective guests, and it would take many months to build a new restaurant. I’m sure the Chambers would be loath to see it go. Nevertheless, I’ll be surprised if Má Pêche is still around in five years.

Chang has re-tooled Má Pêche several times since it opened in 2009, but nothing has quite done the trick. There’s a regular parade of offers and special deals, to say nothing of constant infotising on Eater.com. And yet, the place was half empty at 7:00pm on a recent Saturday evening. It doesn’t look good.

It’s hard to itemize all of the changes, or when exactly they took place. Reservations and dessert are now available (they weren’t originally). The huge X-shaped communal table has been broken up into several smaller ones. On a prior visit, a hostess insisted that I sit at the counter, even though the tables were almost all empty. Now, no one sits at that counter.

Paul Carmichael replaced founding chef Tien Ho in October 2011. The menu started to drift away from Ho’s faux Vietnamese, and by April 2012 it had evolved to “American cuisine” (menu left; click for a larger version).

If this is American, it’s not any particular idiom you’ll recognize. Chang has long claimed to serve “American food” at all of his restaurants. It has never really been true, except in the loosest sense.

Remnants of the former approach remain. There are still chopsticks at every table, even though they’re not needed for any of the food, and they’re hardly usable for most of it. You’ll have to ask for silverware.

The menu is divided into several categories: “Raw” ($15–18), Small Plates ($13–18), Large Plates ($29–32), “For Two” ($40, $75), and Vegetables ($10–14). The server rather unhelpfully suggested 1½ to 2½ dishes per person, which is a rather wide range of the amount of food and what you’ll pay. We erred on the lower end of that range.

Portions are rather dainty, and a couple might even be considered insulting.

 

Half-a dozen oysters (above left) were $20. A sliver of cheese (above center) was $6, and so were bread and butter (above right). That butter was a superb specimen, one of two kinds offered. They could serve it at Per Se. The bread, warm and crunchy, was wonderful, and seconds came out without extra charge. But in the context of the prices here, it should come with dinner.

 

Trout ($15; above left) and Soft Shell Crab ($18; above center) were small but acceptable portions. Duck ($32; above right) was downright offensive, with just three modest slices. It was all pretty good, but portioned for a health spa. A solo diner could have placed our order, and gone home hungry. Our party of three shared it, with no indication from staff that it was on the light side.

Servers are generally more casually dressed than the customers. In fact, there seems to be no staff dress code at all: t-shirts, torn cutoff jeans, you name it. I don’t personally care what the staff wear, but the approach here doesn’t quite fit the neighborhood.

And at a restaurant where the bill can easily soar above $100 a head, can’t they do better than a stack of DIY paper napkins on each table? What’s with serving martinis in juice glasses? Even the server couldn’t help but be embarrassed: “Sorry, we don’t have martini glasses.”

Service was eager and friendly—but not fast, attentive, or competent. We were warned that plates would come out family style. The oysters, bread, cheese, and trout, appeared with alacrity, but we waited about 30 minutes for the last two plates, as our order was stuck behind a “large format” dinner (10 people, $450, for lamb, chicken, and veggies).

We were ignored for long stretches: plates weren’t promptly cleared or replaced. No one noticed we were ready for a fresh round of drinks. When we finally ordered those drinks, they didn’t come out until we were done eating. There didn’t seem to be any hierarchy in the dining room: you’ll give your order to one server, and then another asks again.

For all that, there are the bones of a good restaurant at Má Pêche. This was my fifth visit, and if it lasts long enough I’ll probably go again. The food, although overpriced, is pretty good. Poor service can change with the day of the week, and the staff clearly want to be helpful, when they can and know how to do so.

I don’t have much hope for Má Pêche. It looks like David Chang is just phoning it in.

Má Pêche (15 W. 56th Street between Fifth & Sixth Avenues, West Midtown)

Food: An American/Asian mash-up with excellent American-sourced ingredients
Service: Eager but inattentive and poorly organized
Ambiance: A striking, high-ceilinged dining room; casual, perhaps to a fault

Rating: ★
Why? Food is better than the West Midtown average, although over-priced

Shake Shack

Remember Marilyn Hagerty, the Olive Garden reviewer from Grand Forks, North Dakota? The piece went viral, as foodies lampooned her fawining praise for such a mediocre restaurant.

The newspaper then sent her to New York to review—yes, Olive Garden again—and also Dovetail, Crown, Le Bernardin, and even a lowly hot dog stand.

Anyhow, she also visited Shake Shack. Turns out she’s not the country bumpkin that the original review suggests. Her capsule critique: “the meat was slightly better than Burger King.” (I mean, if you were the critic in Grand Forks, what would you review.)

Shake Shack, the lowliest of Danny Meyer’s restaurants, now has 15 locations in five U.S. states, the District of Columbia, and the Middle East. It is indeed slightly better than Burger King.

At most reasonable mealtimes, expect to wait about 15–20 minutes, and it could very easily be a whole lot more, depending on the location — I visited the Times Square branch, at the corner of 44th Street and Eighth Avenue, at around 6:40pm on a Monday evening.

I’d heard the fries are poor, so I ordered just a cheeseburger and a vanilla milkshake.

The burger is cooked to order. Both the patty and the bun are thicker, fresher, and heartier than most fast food. But both are too greasy—or were on this occasion.

The shake is rather small by fast food standards, and not thick enough. It’s rather odd that the shake ($5) is more expensive than the cheesburger ($4.05).

This is a Danny Meyer joint, so the service is pretty good, bearing in mind that it’s fast food. If you think of Shake Shack as a slightly better Burger King, perhaps it’s worth the wait if you must have a burger.

When the line snakes around the block, I’m not convinced it’s worth it.

Shake Shack (300 W. 44th St. at Eighth Avenue, Times Square)

Food: burgers, fries, shakes, and such; even wine
Service: Danny Meyer does fast food
Ambiance: Danny Meyer does fast food

Rating: ★
Why? It’s fine if you must have a fast-food burger and the line isn’t too long

The NoMad

You’ve got to hand it to Daniel Humm and Will Guidara, chef and restaurateur of the city’s hottest new restaurant, The NoMad: they know how to make an entrance, whether it be the Goodfellas-inspired promo video, or the publicity machine that generated eleven Eater.com posts in a nine-day span.

Humm and Guidara are the team behind Eleven Madison Park, which Frank Bruni elevated to four stars in 2009. The pair later bought out restaurant’s former owner, Danny Meyer, after they signed onto the NoMad project without their boss in tow. Meyer no doubt recalled a similar split, when Tom Colicchio opened Craft without him, while remaining the absentee chef at Gramercy Tavern: it was bound not to work in the long run, and this time Meyer chose not to delay the inevitable.

It’s news whenever a four-star chef opens a new place, but I don’t recall anything quite like the breathless coverage here. One month in, The NoMad is packed every evening, at almost any hour. It sets up gargantuan expectations that the restaurant might struggle to meet in the long run, after the excitement dies down and the chef is once again spending most of his time at the mother ship.

The NoMad is a major opening, no question about it. Although it lacks tablecloths, everything about it screams luxury. One of its five rooms, the Atrium, is “inspired by the great courtyards of Europe.” Another, the Parlour, is a “stately room featuring dark oak furnishings, richly textured fabrics and over 100 pressed antique herbs.” Yet another is an “intimate cove [with] the original fireplace imported from a great French château.” Or if not there, the “fully curated, two-level library connected by an original spiral staircase imported from the South of France.”

The staff, dressed in crisply pressed suits, look the part. Under GM Jeffrey Tascarella’s direction, they put on a well-choreographed show. I should note that Mr. Tascarella recognized me as soon as I arrived. I’d like to assume they do the same for everyone, but I can’t vouch for that: a couple in front of me was quoted a 45-minute wait to be seated for drinks in the library, whereas they accommodated me immediately. (At the bar, revelers were stacked three deep.)

The house cocktails ($15) are outstanding, including two of the best drinks with brown spirits that I’ve had in a long time, the Satan’s Circus (rye, chili-infused aperol, cherry heering, lemon) and the Old Alhambra (Islay scotch, vermouth, sherry, creme de cacao).

Like many a hotel restaurant, The NoMad will be serving three meals a day, plus (I assume) room service, which gives the owners many more meals over which to amortize their investment. Nevertheless, dinner is expensive here, with snacks $8–16, appetizers $14–24 and entrées $22–39. Only the vegetarian mains are under $30: Eater has already made its share of jokes about the $22 carrot entrée.

Breads, baked in-house, change daily. A flat mini-bread fried with fingerling potatoes and spring onions was as good as anything of its kind that we’ve had in a restaurant this year.

 

We started with one of the snack items, a rich Beef Tartare ($16; above left) with cornichons and horseradish, with crisp slices of toasted brioche to spread it on.

The house sent out a “Grande Plateau des Fruits de Mer,” normally $24 per person. I didn’t note the components, but it was far more impressive than your usual seafood platter, in that most of the items were composed, and were not just raw shellfish on the halfshell.

 

The kitchen also sent out two mid-courses, which I think were variants on the two vegetarian entrées on the normal menu: asparagus with button mushrooms; carrots and parsnip. These were the two best dishes we had all evening.

  

A whole chicken for two ($78) is the restaurant’s signature dish, the only large-format item on the menu. The whole bird is presented tableside (above left), then sent back to the kitchen for plating (above right).

It’s an impressive technical achievement, with truffle, foie gras, and brioche under the near-blackened skin. But just like the duck for two at Eleven Madison Park, one can’t help feeling that what comes back is rather meager, especially at the price.

There’s a whole Chowhound thread about the inconsistencies in this dish, which I wish I’d read in advance, as I might not have been so keen to order it. I didn’t really taste much foie gras or truffle. The chicken itself wasn’t bad, but the accompanying fricassee of dark meat (above) was not very pleasant at all. A few days later, we had the fried chicken at Peels, a much more satisfying dish that costs only $21.75.

We dined in the luxurious Parlour, which struck me as a much nicer space than the other main dining room, the Atrium, which is louder, and in which the tables seem closer together. There is much on this menu that I’d love to try. The chicken was a disappointment, but also an anomaly, as we loved everything else we tried.

The next evening, we dined at Café Boulud, which like The NoMad, is the next peg down the scale, below a four-star chef’s flagship. But whereas the former is small, quiet and understated, The NoMad is massive, brash, and a little exhausting. Messrs. Humm and Guidara must, of course, choose their own path, but it will be interesting to see if all of this excitement is sustainable.

The NoMad (1170 Broadway at 28th Street, NoMad)

Food: A focused Euro-American menu, just a notch below luxurious
Service: Crisp, correct, and attentive
Ambiance: An over-the-top dining palace, without the tablecloths

Rating: ★★
Why? Humm is a great chef, and there’s nothing in NYC quite like The NoMad

Molyvos

Have you been to Molyvos latelty? Once at the vanguard of the city’s Greek dining scene, in recent years it had fallen into irrelevance, seldom mentioned, a scene for revelers and tourists. Of course, any decent restaurant near the Theater District is going to have customers, but Molyvos surely considered itself better than that.

I don’t know if it was the lack of press or a paltry 19 rating for décor on Zagat that made the owners finally take notice. On my last visit, I don’t remember disliking it. But I recall it was dark and and kitschy, dominated by amphorae and other Greek bric-à-brac. (There’s a slideshow of the old décor at New York.)

The space is now brighter and less cluttered, more in Aegean blues than archeological browns. This isn’t a bid to reclaim the three-star rating the restaurant once had (from Ruth Reichl) when it opened in 1997, before Eric Asimov knocked it back to two, five years later. It remains a Theater District restaurant at its heart, turning out food at too hectic a pace to be as careful and as luxurious as it should be.

But this is still very good Greek cuisine, a genre under-represented in Manhattan, and the wine list is fabulous. The website claims the most extensive selection of Greek wines in the United States: 400 bottles, with no bail-out for timid drinkers hesitant to order labels they don’t recognize. I have certainly never seen more Greek wines on one list. There are nearly 40 wines available by the glass, and should you find yourself at sea, the staff know the list well and give sage advice.

On the menu, there’s a separate category of about a dozen Mezedes, or small plates ($7–10) for the bar crowd. Appetizers are $12–18, entrées $22–36 (most $30 and up), with a separate list of a half-dozen whole fish by the pound, perhaps a trap for the unwary.

I’ve no basis for comparison with older menus, but there’s continuity here: the same executive chef, Jim Botsakos, has been around from the beginning.

 

I didn’t sample the Soupia (cuttlefish) on a bed of orzo ($24; above left), but both my guests said it was far too salty, and it was left half-uneaten. Arni Kokkinisto ($30; above right), a slow-cooked lamb stew, was tender and full of flavor, but an unimpressive presentation at the price.

 

I loved the Barbounia ($30; above left), four whole fish with a rich, wood-grilled flavor. You would expect the fish to be excellent here, as the same owners also run Oceana, midtown’s best seafood restaurant without four stars; and Abboccato, where the seafood is likewise a strength. A side of spinach ($7; above right) was quite good, as well.

Molyvos isn’t suffering for business at all. At 6:30 p.m. on a Monday evening, there was a large banquet at the back of the restaurant. By the time we left, most tables were taken, and there was a lively bar crowd. Post-renovation, Molyvos no longer looks old-fashioned, and its wine list has quietly grown to the best of its kind in New York. The menu must be carefully navigated, but I suspect the whole fish will never let you down.

If you haven’t gone in a while, Molyvos deserves another look.

Molyvos (871 Seventh Avenue between 55th & 56th Streets, West Midtown)

Food: Very good classic Greek cuisine and whole fish
Wine: 400 bottles, 40 by the glass, all Greek; the best of its kind in New York
Service: Knowledgeable and attentive, bearing in mind the size of the place
Ambiance: Bright, modern, less touristy than before

Rating: ★★
Why? For the incomparable wine list and the excellent whole fish

Benoit

Alain Ducasse never gets an opening right in New York. His troubles at the Essex House and at Mix are well enough known that I needn’t repeat them. (Let google be your friend, if they’re unfamiliar to you.) Anyhow, those restaurants are long gone.

Adour at the St. Regis and Benoit are both on their third executive chefs in roughly four years. I hear great things about chef Didier Elena’s tenure at Adour, but haven’t been back yet. The other night was my first visit to Benoit since Philippe Bertineau took over last year.

When Ducasse opened Benoit, he told The Times that he had a list of 100 recipes he’d like “to put on the menu sooner or later.” I can believe that, as the menu looks new almost every time I go. I won’t miss the fries “Louis l’Ami style,” stacked in an impressive-looking tower but cold and greasy on the inside, nor a bizarre pork shank I had in 2009.

Other items, like the egg mayo, escargots, onion soup, quenelles, roast chicken for two, and steak aux poivres, have been more or less constant since the place opened. Cassoulet is offered in season, as in right now. It’s all classic French bistro food, made well.

Prices have edged upward, as they have almost everywhere. In 2008, there were no items above $29; now, half the entrées exceed that price, with the high end at $39. Onion soup that was $9 in 2008 is $12 now. Cassoulet that was $26 in 2009 is $29 now.

You can also dine more economically. At each place setting is a printed card with a pencil, where you can check off three appetizers for $12 or five for $16. If you’re there before 6:30 p.m., as I was the other night, the pre-theatre prix fixe is $29 for two courses or $39 for three. (There is also a less expensive bar menu.)

The carb spread (above left) is pretty good, with four light gougères and sliced French bread in a cloth basket.

The $29 prix fixe offered three choices apiece for the appetizer and entrée. The twice-baked Comté cheese soufflé (above left) was rich and luscious, with a creamy sauce poured tableside. My apologies for the poor photo.

Skate Wing Grenobloise (above right) was the best fish entrée I’ve had in a few months, with crisp crust, tangy on the inside. (The term “Grenobloise” refers to a sauce with browned butter, capers, parsley, and lemon.) Skate isn’t a luxury fish, but the kitchen couldn’t have made it shine any more brightly.

The ambiance straddles the divide between fancy and casual. Once upon a time, there was a four-star restaurant here. The iconic room (formerly La Côte Basque) could stand to be a bit brighter. There are crisp white tablecloths, sauces and flambées at tableside, French-speaking waiters, and a deep wine list where many bottles reach three figures. But roasted peanuts (above right) replace the usual petits fours, the menu is presented in a plastic sleeve, and the wine glasses are “one size fits all.” There’s a good list of classic cocktails, like the French 75 ($15), but the list of wines by the glass is over-priced and underwhelming.

On some prior visits (this was my fourth or fifth), I’ve noted scatter-brained service as the restaurant fills up. I couldn’t test if that problem has been fixed, as it was only about one-quarter full at 6:15 p.m., and still under half full when I left for Carnegie Hall at 7:15. The server was attentive, and the food came out fairly quickly.

Ducasse keeps fiddling with the place, but despite occasional flubs on past visits, Benoit still feels like a two-star restaurant to me, and a vital one at that.

Benoit (60 W. 55th Street between Fifth & Sixth Avenues, West Midtown)

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

Duck Leg Confit at Brasserie Athénée

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

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

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