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

City Island Lobster House

Until last weekend, City Island was an abstraction to me—a place I’d heard of but never given two seconds’ thought.

For the geographically-challenged (like me): City Island is a tiny island off the east coast of the Bronx, connected by a century-old bridge to the mainland. About 4/10ths of a square mile in area, it has under 5,000 residents.

The island’s main industries seem to be boat storage and seafood restaurants. There are dozens of restaurants along the island’s main drag (City Island Avenue), many of which seem to be interchangeable. They all look just a bit downscale and touristy, and it is hard to imagine how so many of them stay in business all year.

My friend had heard vaguely good things about City Island Lobster House, located on a side street just off the bridge, so we tried that. It looks like one of those generic seafood shacks that one expects to see every quarter-mile in New England shore towns. The website is as cheesy as the restaurant is.

The huge laminated menu takes a while to absorb, but there wasn’t much doubt we were having lobsters. To go to a “Lobster House” and order anything else would be silly.

The meal comes with a bounteous bread plate (above left) with terrific garlic bread, warm blueberry bread, and a bowl of olives and cheese. Caesar salad (above right) was totally forgettable; I assume they make them up well in advance, and pull them out of the fridge as needed.

The lobster was wonderful, but it was typical of slightly slapdash service that it was served with the bowl of melted butter tipped over. It took quite a while to get lobster forks, and after our meal the server claimed to be out of wet-naps before returning with them.

You won’t beat these prices in New York City: a 1½-pound lobster with salad and bread was $24.95 apiece. Cocktails are under $10 each. The total for two was under $70 before tax and tip. Is it a great restaurant? No. Do they have lobster nailed? Yes.

City Island Lobster House (691 Bridge Street #1, City Island)

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

WallE

Note: WallE closed without fanfare in February 2012. It never caught on, and my 1½-star rating was probably a half-star too high.

*

I have fond memories of Chin Chin, the upscale Chinese restaurant in East Midtown where we held the rehearsal dinner before my wedding. The marriage didn’t work out. The meal was fabulous.

Last year, Wally Chin, who co-owns Chin Chin with his brother Jimmy, announced he’d be opening a modern Chinese place nearby. It was delayed almost a year while he dealt with health problems, before opening in March.

He calls it WallE (wall–EE), a play on Mr. Chin’s first name. Or, to give the full name, WallE Restaurant & Lounge. The website plays up the “lounge” aspect of it, which might not be a wise choice. There’s a casual front room with a TV behind the bar that’s tuned to ESPN, and a more formal dining room where we were initially seated. There was a loud private party, so we asked to move up front, where not many tables were taken.

The chef, Chris Cheung, has worked at a bunch of Chinese/Asian restaurants, and even Graydon Carter’s Monkey Bar. His menu here is Chinese with American inflections: thus, there’s a burger sandwiched between scallion pancakes, and buns with foie gras.

You will eat like a king, for not very much money. “Small plates” (heaven forbid they call them appetizers) are $7–16, “large plates” (entrées) $16–29, rice dishes $12–19, side dishes $4–9. It’s not cheap the way Chinatown is cheap, but it’s not bad at all for a good midtown address.

Portions are huge, starting with a superb bread selection (above left) that, for me, could be dinner most nights all by itself. Likewise a Pu Pu Platter ($10 per person; above right) with an assortment of lobster rolls, dumplings, and rock shrimp.

   

The aforementioned burger ($16; above left), made from Pat LaFreida dry aged beef, has a compelling, smoky flavor. You can’t tell from the photo, but it’s enormous: I ate just half. Shoestring fries that came with it (above center) were pretty good.

A hefty portion of tender Baby Back Ribs ($23; below left) came with a huge side of macaroni & cheese (above right) that we barely touched.

It is a pity that we had almost no room for a rice dish we shouldn’t have ordered, Shanghai Belly ($12; above right) with three luscious hunks of pork belly and a fried egg. The small taste I had of it was wonderful.

The minimal wine list is adequate, though certainly not a draw on its own. The cocktail menu features the likes of a Mai Tai and drinks that end in “–tini” without the “mar–” prefix. Service was good, but the server ought to have advised us that we had ordered far too much food.

I don’t deduct points for décor I dislike, but I found the space sterile and charmless. The restaurant seats 120, but it has a “big box” feel that might have been fashionable about ten years ago. It is as if Mr. Chin were regurgitating decorating ideas that were cool for 15 minutes in 2002, and that he were utterly oblivious to anything that has happened since.

WallE may ultimately succumb to an identity crisis. The owner wans to appeal to the “lounge” crowd, but the space is far too passé for that to work. The chef hopes to serve modern, “interesting” food (and largely succeeds), but the people who’d be attracted to it might find the lounge vibe off-putting.

WallE (249 E. 53rd Street near Second Avenue, East Midtown)

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

Park Avenue Spring

Note: Park Avenue ______ lost its lease at the end of 2013. A new restaurant from Chef Michael White’s Altamarea Group was expected to replace it. The restaurant has re-located to 360 Park Avenue, site of two failed projects from the same owners, Hurricane Club and General Assembly.

*

There is a fine line between gimmick and inspiration. When Park Avenue Summer opened on the Upper East Side three years ago, I was inclined to think it was the former. The time has come to revise that view.

The restaurant’s conceit remains the same: four times a year, it closes for a couple of days and completely re-does its décor, signage, menu, website—everything. Design firm AvroKO configured the space with removable wall panels and seat cushions, which permits a total make-over every three months.

But what seemed like an overwrought ode to seasonality has withstood the test of time. Despite stratospheric prices, the restaurant is perpetually packed, no matter the time of year. On a recent Saturday evening, the food was much improved since my visit in 2008, when I gave it no stars.

With opening chef Craig Koketsu now splitting his time among three restaurants, the kitchen is in the hands of executive chef Kevin Lasko, who has worked at the space since it was called Park Avenue Café. The menu is spackled with vegetables and fish in season, though most of the proteins (steak tartare, filet mignon) could be served without apology all year long.

I had long suspected that Park Avenue _____ was worthy of a revisit, ever since Frank Bruni awarded two stars, a rating that had surprised me. Prices are a significant deterrent. With appetizers averaging $16, entrées $35, and desserts $15, you’re unlikely to get out for less than $100 per head, unless you drink water. Our bill was $175 before tax and tip, and that was with a shared appetizer and dessert comped.

Even when the place opened, there was nothing novel about its seasonal approach to cuisine. For about the same price, you can dine at Blue Hill in Greenwich Village, where the cuisine, service, and atmosphere are all better. ABC Kitchen in Chelsea is roughly similar, and slightly less expensive. Which restaurant you prefer may come down to a neighborhood preference or your mood on a given day.

For many diners, the price point will remain a turn-off, when every Brooklyn neighborhood has a much less expensive, come-as-you-are, rustic chic restaurant that doesn’t take reservations, with a farm in the back yard, and some long-bearded guy in the kitchen. If you’re in the mood for the haute barnyard motif in more upscale (but yet not formal) surroundings, Park Avenue _____ might be the place for you.

The amuse bouche (above left) of root vegetables and yogurt was served in a witty bird-sculpture vessel. This came with a basket of house-made bread: a spring herb roll, a red pepper and jack cheese cornbread, and a flat bread with red lentil, bulgur wheet, and quinoa.

As it was late, we shared an appetizer: a crab cake ($18; above right) with raspberries and avocado. There was nothing special about the crab itself, but such an unusual combination of ingredients made a curiously effective impact.

A pork chop ($29; above left) and filet mignon ($42; above middle) were served with appropriate vegetables of the season. Taken on their own, the proteins were as well executed as they should be at a restaurant as expensive as this, but otherwise unmemorable. A side dish of peas and carrots ($9; above right) was excellent.

Dessert was comped, either because I was recognized, or to make up for a minor service snafu before we were seated. After a small chocolate crumble (above left) came the Chocolate Cube (normally $15; above right), which the server said is so popular that it is served all year long. One of the most remarkable desserts I have had in a long time, a thick hard chocolate cube gives way to a remarkably moist custard, with a texture between cake and panna cotta. If the rest of pastry chef Kevin Leach’s desserts are as good as this, he deserves to be far better known.

It is not the restaurant’s fault that it is popular. We arrived fifteen minutes before our 9:30 p.m. reservation, to find that we could not be seated early, and there were no seats available at the bar. We milled around the crowded vestibule and put in a drinks order, which took a while to come. The dining room is on the loud side when full, and at some two-tops, including ours, you’ll be very nearly in your neighbors’ laps. You’ll admire the pretty space, but you’ll be a bit frustrated that there is nowhere to put down the wine list. Service is courteous and professional.

Park Avenue _____ doesn’t get much press any more. The Upper East Side crowd it predominantly caters to is happy, and its quarterly revamp ensures that the restaurant always seems new.

Park Avenue Spring (100 E. 63rd Street at Park Avenue, Upper East Side)

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

The Dutch

Most chefs would be delighted to receive just one tenth of the free publicity that has been accorded The Dutch, chef Andrew Carmellini’s new SoHo restaurant.

By my count, since the first reports that he was considering the former Cub Room space, in September 2009, The Dutch (or unnamed versions of it) has been mentioned in thirty-eight posts on Eater.com, some thirty-three of which came before it had served a single meal. Many of them were titled, simply, the Daily Dutch, both confirming and lampooning the need to provide infinitesimal updates on the protracted build-out, which took almost a year and a half.

Carmellini himself is a master at manipulating the media, beginning with a bizarre opening night, which commenced at 11:00 p.m. on a Monday in April (naturally blogged to death), with normal hours the next day and lunch a couple of weeks later. All blogged and tweeted in copious detail.

None of this is to deny that Carmellini is a pretty good chef, with a long track record of success, and at least somewhat deserving of all that attention. Yet, in an interview with The Times last September, he purposely deflated expectations: “We wanted this to be a neighborhood restaurant,” and “it kind of sounds like a joint, and that’s what we want there.”

When the likes of Martha Stewart,  Mario Batali, Daniel Boulud, and Thomas Keller, dine there on the first couple of nights, this isn’t a neighborhood restaurant, whatever the chef may say. But it’s not fine dining, and the restaurant is designed as much for snacking as a full meal. The late-night hours and casual vibe attract, among others, restaurant industry professionals on days off and at the end of their shifts. That part of the plan seems to be working (Todd English and Wylie Dufresne were among the chefs I spotted).

I’ve been to the Dutch twice, both times fairly late by my standards. Even after 11:00 p.m. on a Friday evening, the room was packed, although I was able to snag a bar stool immediately. It was the same story at 10:00 p.m. on a Monday. I suspect it will be packed for a good long while.

The menu, which Carmellini describes as American food, has Asian, Italian, and Mexican influences too. Prices are in a wide range, with entrées $18–46. You can have oysters from the raw bar at $3 each, or a serving of caviar for $95; smoked ricotta ravioli at $18, or a ribeye for two at $96. Cocktails are the standard NYC upscale price: $14. Other prices have already gone up since the introductory menus were published.

Every meal starts with the warm house-made corn bread (above left), which is a bit too crumbly, but very good nevertheless. Deep-fried little oyster sandwiches ($5 ea., above center) are a delight, but Asian ribs ($7; above right) are somewhat ordinary.

I didn’t much care for under-seasoned Bario Tripe ($14; above left), with beer (untastable), onion, and avocado, covered in dull tortilla chips.

The chicken has undergone perhaps the most significant change since the opening. Photos from early reviewers showed pieces of Southern fried chicken with a biscuit for $19. This has evolved to one piece of smoked chicken (above right) in a sort of foam, topped with stray pieces of popcorn for $22. Carmellini has the knack for poultry, but the version I had at Locanda Verdi a couple of years ago was better, and a larger portion, at a similar price.

The interior, designed by Roman and Williams (same folks as The Breslin and The John Dory) is a rambling space with ample bar seating. It gets awfully loud. Service, although unpretentious, can be slow. I haven’t sampled the wine list, but I’ve had several cocktails, all of which are quite good.

Anyone who knows Andrew Carmellini, knows he will never serve you a bad meal. But it’s hard to avoid the sense that his restaurants are evolving to the lowest common denominator. The Dutch wasn’t as good as Locanda Verde, which wasn’t as good as A Voce, which wasn’t as good as Café Boulud.

Of course, it’s nice to have a “drop in” place, which The Dutch is, but Café Boulud and A Voce were not. Yet, it’s hard to escape the sense that Carmellini could do better.

The Dutch (131 Sullivan Street at Prince Street, SoHo)

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

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: **

Desmond's

Note: Desmond’s closed in July 2012. What were originally described as mere “renovations” turned out—as is so often the case—to be permanent. The space is now a gastropub called Brinkley’s Station.

*

Suppose you’re teleported into the dining room of a random restaurant. Could you take one look, and guess what neighborhood you’re in?

If it’s Desmond’s, you probably can: the Upper East Side. Situated in a gorgeous alabaster neoclassical townhouse that was once a bank, and later a design studio, the room makes an instant impression, with a soaring double-height ceiling, skylight, and a witty modern-art chandelier.

Comfortable banquettes line either side, with white tablecloths and pineapple-shaped silver lamps on each table. It has the same clubby look as other successful places in the neighborhood, like David Burke Townhouse and The Mark by Jean Georges. (See the slideshow at nymag.com.)

This is the first solo venture for the chef and co-owner, David Hart, who was previously at Soho House and Claridge’s in London. The place opened quietly in early March, with little notice in the usual media sources and no professional reviews to date.

According to Eater.com, the opening press release described Desmond’s as “suave and clubby”; Time Out calls it a “supper club,” a term likely to repulse more diners than it attracts. As far as I can tell, it’s simply a restaurant, albeit one that the downtown crowd will probably not find very appealing.

If you’re more broad-minded than that, Desmond’s is an easy restaurant to like. It’s a beautiful space, service is just fine, and if the menu strikes you as unadventurous, at least it is executed well, and fairly priced for the neighborhood, with appetizers and salads $11–18, entrées $22–34, side dishes $9.

We were there late on a Friday evening and ordered only entrées. Crab Risotto ($29; above left) was wonderful. Double-cut Lamb Chops ($34; above right) with mint sauce were tender and flavorful. There was no bread service.

Tables are rather close together, and even with the restaurant less than half full at 10:00 p.m., it was a shade on the noisy side. I am not sure I would want to be there at prime time. There is a mezzanine with just a few tables that looks to be a bit quieter.

The proffer at Desmond’s falls a bit short of destination cuisine, but there are never too many refined, dependable restaurants, and this one delivers on its promise with considerable charm.

Desmond’s (153 E. 60th Street between Lexington & Third Avenues, Upper East Side)

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

Empellón

Allow me to set the scene. We’re eavesdroppers Chez Stupak. Alex worked formerly as pastry chef at Alinea, which was on its way to three Michelin stars, being named the #6 restaurant in the world (and #1 in the U.S.), and best Chicago restaurant ever. It hadn’t quite reached those accolades when Alex was there, but it was on the way.

Then Alex moved to WD~50, with another Michelin star, where he was acclaimed as a pastry genius fully worthy of accompanying chef Wylie Dufresne’s wacky but adorable cuisine with three New York Times stars.

We’re eavesdropping Chez Supak, as I say, and Alex says to his wife, Lauren Resler (herself a pastry chef, albeit not as well known), “Let’s open a taco place.” And you want to blow your cover, jump into the scene, and ask the Stupaks, “Srsly? What the Sam Hill are you doing?”

I do realize that investors might have doubts about savory dishes coming from a former pastry chef, especially after Sam Mason (another former WD~50 pastry chef) flamed out spectacularly at Tailor (a restaurant I liked, but not enough people did). As Stupak told Serious Eats:

“My resume really hurt me here,” he says; “People expected me to open a pastry restaurant, but the problem is, once people pigeonhole you, your creativity is severely restricted. People come for my pastry and expect certain things—like you’d expect pasta on an Italian menu—but with Mexican food, they have no expectations. I’m opening a Mexican restaurant because it’s the food I love to eat, and that’s it.”

But still. Why Mexican, and why tacos?

Fast forward about 18 months, and the idea has reached fruition at Empellón, a smallish West Village place at one of the city’s few intersections of two numbered streets, W. 4th and W. 10th.

The space is non-descript and sparsely decorated. Had Stupak chosen Portuguese cuisine, rather than Mexican, the same décor would have worked. The hard surfaces amplify noise, and the tables are close together.

“You’re not saying anything,” my companion observed.

“I’m just out of patience for shouting,” I replied. That was with the dining room doing brisk business on a Saturday evening, but not full by any means. Reservations have not been tough to come by.

Perhaps Stupak is finding that there aren’t enough folks who’ll pay $17 for three small tacos. The server recited a list of proper entrées: it sounded like there were at least four of them, but they went by too quickly. She implied that they’ll soon be on the printed menu, perhaps pushing the tacos to sharable appetizer status. Looks like a smart move.

The current list of appetizers (there are just a few) isn’t expensive, at $10–11 each, but those seeking a more substantial meal may, for now, be disappointed that the menu ends at tacos.

Meatballs ($10; above left) ride atop a crisp biscuit, with roasted tomato, chorizo, and chipotle. They’re a bit unexciting. Cheddar ($11; above right) comes in a sizzling skillet with bacon and huazontles (a Mexican herb), with warm tortillas on the side. We loved this dish and wished it were larger.

There are eight taco dishes, of which we tried two, both $17: Lamb Barbacoa (above left) and Shrimp (above right). Each was hearty and rich, but the shrimp, the spicier of the two, is the one I would order again.

Service is efficient, knowledgeable, and friendly. And to my delight, the restaurant takes reservations, unusual these days at a place this casual. Had it been strictly for walk-ins, I doubt Empellón would have had my business on a Saturday evening when I was coming from uptown, and wanted to know I had a place to eat.

Although we enjoyed our meal, the food strikes me as a work in progress. Empellón will be a much more compelling restaurant when regular entrées make it onto the menu, as they surely will.

Empellón (230 W. 4th Street at W. 10th Street, West Village)

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

Update: Fatty Crab

I had dinner with a friend on Sunday evening at the West Village Fatty Crab. I’ve written about both Manhattan Fatty Crabs before (here, here), and my opinion of the franchise remains the same: very good food, poor service.

It seems to me that at $111 for two people (before tax and tip), replacing silverware and plates between courses ought to be automatic, not something you have to ask for. And the least they could do is to reprint an outdated menu that is dog-eared from over-use.

That $111 bill, by the way, included a $40 bottle of Tempranillo that paired well with the food. But most of the wine selections were well above $50 a bottle.

What saves Fatty Crab, and the reason I would still go back if I’m in the neighborhood, is that the food remains complelling, even if overpriced: $13 for two small pork buns? $12 for a bowl of broccoli? A dish new to me was a wonderful deep fried whole striped bass ($24).

The restaurant was full on a Sunday evening, which means that Zak Pelaccio has no reason to change.

Fatty Crab (643 Hudson St., btwn Gansevoort & Horatio Sts., West Village)

Pier 9

Note: This is a review under chef Eric Hara, who is no longer with the restaurant as of May 2012. The restaurant closed in March 2013. The other restaurant mentioned in the review, 9 Restaurant, had closed a while earlier.

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A month ago, the Post ran an article about the burgeoning Hell’s Kitchen restaurant scene—once desolate, lately an embarrassment of riches.

When you think about formerly downtrodden neighborhoods that became dining destinations, usually it took one major success story that made the area a magnet for the food wonks: Montrachet in Tribeca, 71 Clinton Fresh Food on the Lower East Side, to give but two examples.

Hell’s Kitchen doesn’t yet have that kind of restaurant, as far as I can tell. (I don’t count Esca, which is geographically in Hell’s Kitchen but functionally in the Theater District.) What it has is a passel of new places that make it worth traveling the extra long block or two from Eighth Avenue. Perhaps, from one of these, the breakout hit will come.

Chef Eric Hara owns two of these, the adjacent and recently-opened 9 Restaurant and Pier 9 on Ninth Avenue between 53rd and 54th Streets. Hara has bounced around a bit, but his solid background includes three years as executive chef at David Burke Townhouse and a shorter stint at Burke’s Fishtail.

A move to the Oak Room at the Plaza was ill-advised, but it’s surely not Hara’s fault that the owners took the space in a more frivolous direction. A couple of brief detours brought him finally to Ninth Avenue, where he is chef and partner in these two similar restaurants.

Both 9 Restaurant and Pier 9 are relatively informal and inexpensive, with brunch menus for the weekend crowd, outdoor cafés in nice weather, and plenty of space at the bar. At a recent opening party, I found Pier 9 more attractive, and its all-seafood menu more compelling. I didn’t think I’d have the time to try both, so I made a reservation at Pier 9.

Full disclosure: I was there at the publicist’s invitation, and although I paid for my meal, I was charged much less than full price. (I show the à la carte prices in parentheses below, where I know them, but we paid a flat $60 per head.)

Jalapeño and jack cheese biscuits with honey butter (above right), served on a warm skillet, were a perfect start to the meal.

Half-a-dozen fresh, briney oysters ($17; above left) were served raw, in the usual style. A Warm Giant Brady Oyster ($8; above right) was dusted with yuzu, scallions, and tempura flakes. I have never seen this on a restaurant menu, and google is silent as to the identity of the species. Such a remarkable specimen, probably eight inches long, must be seen to be believed.

A ceviche tasting ($18; left top) included, from left to right, Shrimp Tacos with tomatilla and cucumber salsa; Big Eye Tuna Tartare with yuzu, radish, and pears; and Scottish Salmon with orange, pickled chilli, and citrus oil. The salmon was the most successful of these, with its unexpected citrus tang, followed by the shrimp tacos. The tuna tartare was a bit flat, as was a Razor Clam Ceviche ($13; left bottom) with Tuscan olive oil, cilantro mint, and Arbequina olives.

We didn’t much care for Crab & Shitake Mushroom Arancini in spicy tartar sauce ($13; above middle), which were on the greasy side. But Lobster “Mac N Cheese” ($12; above right) might be one of the restaurant’s instant hits.

Entrées, as in many seafood restaurants these days, are either composed or “simply prepared.” We were a shade less fond of the composed dishes. Sourdough Crusted Sea Bass ($25; above, far left) with prawn, mussel, and clam in a ciopino broth had too many ingredients in competition with one another. Tuna au Poivre ($28; above, middle) was a tad too salty.

But a Grilled Whole Branzino ($28; above right) with baby bok choy was terrific.

Halibut (above left) came with a choice of three sauces (above right): green curry and shitake mushroom (the best of the group), lemon, tuscan olive oil & capers, and verjus emulsion. It seemed to us that a couple of the sauces were too heavy for the fish, which couldn’t quite stand up to them.

Both desserts we tried will work for you if you’re in a playful mood: a Rice Krispie Candy Bar with mascarpone ice cream (above left) and a Pretzel & Tapioca Pudding Sundae (above right).

There were no unsuccessful dishes per se, but a few were (to our taste) a bit over-salted or over-fried, and in some instances we felt the chef would be better off letting superior ingredients shine without as much interference.

Both restaurants, Pier 9 and 9 Restaurant, were doing a brisk bar and sidewalk café business on a Wednesday evening, but could use some more patronage to fill the large space in back. Pier 9, especially, is an appealing space, done in an urban seaside motif. Nowadays, it’s fun to dine on Ninth Avenue.

Pier 9 (802 Ninth Avenue between 53rd & 54th Streets, Hell’s Kitchen)