Dressler

Note: Dressler closed suddenly in June 2013 after a rent increase.

*

Frank Bruni raised eyebrows in June, when he awarded two stars to Dressler, a Williamsburg newcomer that—from the description—seemed to be simply a solid neighborhood restaurant. Whether it deserved those stars I’ll get to in a moment. But Bruni put Dressler on my radar screen (and apparently lots of other people’s), and last night I finally got to see for myself what the fuss was about.

When you think of restaurants in Williamsburg, Peter Luger springs to mind. But just a block away is Dressler, and better yet, it doesn’t take three months to get a prime-time reservation. Williamsburg is gentrifying by the minute, and Dressler’s arrival could very well signal that the neighborhood is primed to become a dining destination (for something other than porterhouse steak, that is). It’s just one subway stop into Brooklyn on the J train, and a four-block walk from the Marcy Avenue stop.

Williamsburg still has a ways to go, however. Other than Dressler and Peter Luger, virtually every other storefront on this section of Broadway was locked tight on Friday evening. Many buildings are still covered in grafitti. Walk just another block west of Dressler, and suddenly the neighborhood starts looking a little scary. (I’m not saying it is scary—only that it looks that way.) We might have said the same about TriBeCa 25 years ago, or what is now Lincoln Center 50 years ago.

Dressler is certainly packing them in, and not with a neighborhood crowd. The generally young clientele have heard the buzz, and are coming from all over town. The host told us as much, when he said, “All our reservations are running late, because a subway train got stuck.” Indeed, we were not seated until about 20 minutes after our reservation time. But we were immediately impressed by the friendliness of the staff. At many hot restaurants, the hosts act like they’re doing you a favor to even notice your existence. At Dressler, they apologized profusely, several times, for the delay.

The restaurant is in a deep, narrow storefront. It seats about 60. Black cast iron filligree on the chandeliers and wall decorations put an unusual slant on standard bistro décor. Those chandeliers were enough to captivate us all evening long. Brown paper takes the place of table cloths, in a space that is rather tightly packed. With plenty of exposed hard surfaces, the noise level is on the slightly uncomfortable side of loud.

Smoked sturgeon ($10) comes in a vertically-stacked dish that also includes a potato galette, frisee, arugula, crème fraiche, and truffle vinaigrette. I can well understand why Frank Bruni refused to share it with anyone else. My friend was pleased with a black mission fig and baby arugula salad ($9)

Seared Ahi Tuna ($24), a new dish on the menu (so the server informed me) also came in a vertical stack, with several kinds of vegetables. Duck ($26) came with both sliced breast and the braised thigh on a bed of risotto. Many restaurants charge as much, or more, for the breast alone. My friend gave it a strong thumbs-up.

Frank Bruni complained that a Strawberry-Rhubarb Crisp ($8) with buttermilk ice cream was so goopy that it needed a straw. That problem (if it ever was one) has been corrected. It was warm and comforting, and we had no trouble eating it with our forks.

The wine list is short, but there are plenty of reasonably-priced bottles under $50. The bread service is unimpressive, with consisting of hard rolls that were probably baked the night before. The service was extremely solid, especially considering that our server appeared to have quite a few tables to cover.

Well, what about those two stars? Quite simply, Frank Bruni is crazy. On the New York Times rating system, one star means “good,” and that’s precisely what Dressler is. We had a great time at a very reasonable price by New York standards, and would happily come back. But when Dressler is lumped into the same category as Alto, The Modern, Café Gray and Eleven Madison Park, it makes Bruni into a laughing stock.

Dressler (149 Broadway between Driggs and Bedford Aves, Williamsburg)

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

Onera

Note: Chef Michael Psilakis closed Onera in late 2006, re-opening a more casual version of itself called Kefi, which has since moved to larger digs. The space then became the short-lived Gus & Gabriel Gastropub, before morphing into Fish Tag—all still under Psilakis.

*

In a neighborhood short on elegant dining options, Onera is an oasis of calm. My friend was immediately taken by the cool, relaxing environment. The original chef, Michael Psilakis, has since expanded his empire to Dona (which he shares with Donatella Arpaia), though he remains chef/owner at Onera.

The menu has morphed since my first visit a year or two ago. There’s no longer quite as much emphasis on organ meat—a choice that had put Onera on the map, but apparently hadn’t wowed diners. The cuisine seems safer now, but it’s still plenty good.

The menu remains a tad over-complicated. There’s a choice of “meze” to start ($11 for two, or $22 for five), appetizers ($9–12), salads ($8–9), pasta ($15–17), fish ($23–26), and meat courses ($18–24). Some of those categories could be merged. It would be nice if the pastas were available in smaller appetizer-sized portions.

Anyhow, we each chose a pasta and an entrée. I had the sheep milk dumplings ($16), which were plenty of spicy fun, although slightly cloying in an almost main course-sized portion. My friend chose the Greek risotto ($16), which came with shrimp, spinach, onion, tomato, and feta cheese. I had a taste of this, and it was absolutely spectacular. I was jealous! This must be the city’s best risotto bargain.

Ah well, the haze sets in, and I’ve forgotten the entrées, except that mine was fish and hers was chicken, both well executed and enjoyable. The wine list has an impressive selection of Greek wines at reasonable prices. The bread service is bountiful, and you could easily spoil the meal if you snack on too much of it.

Onera (222 W. 79th St. between Amsterdam Avenue & Broadway, Upper West Side)

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

Sfoglia

Sfoglia has gotten its share of good press lately. Andrea Strong said, “I would consider a move Uptown for this restaurant.” In New York, Adam Platt was smitten, awarding three stars on his five-star scale.

I was nowhere near as impressed. I started with the cheese antipasto ($10), which comes with crackers and a house-made jam, while my friend started with the creamy polenta ($11). Both presentations were competent, though not revelatory. I moved on to the veal chop ($25), which was a nice hunk of tender flesh spiced with a hint of sambuca. My friend had the fish of the day, which I believe was halibut—a generously sized portion. She gave me a taste, and sure enough the kitchen had gotten it right.

But for all that, the restaurant is not very comfortable. Strong said, “the vibe is soft and sexy.” Well, Strong thinks something is sexy every week. It’s a faux rustic décor that is pleasant, but unremarkable. Our table for two didn’t allow much elbow room. Wine was served in water tumblers. Although it was a white wine, there was no ice bucket.

If I lived in the neighborhood, I’d pay a visit occasionally. Next time I go to the 92nd Street Y, I’ll consider it. But it’s not a dining destination.

Sfoglia (1402 Lexington Avenue at 92nd Street, Upper East Side)

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

Update: In March 2007, Frank Bruni awarded two stars to Sfoglia in the Times. Although entirely consistent with his past reviews of similar places (see Al di Là, Spigolo), it still feels like a one-star restaurant to me.

5 Years Later: Rebuilding? Not.

When I started this blog, I created a category called “Rebuilding” for my comments about downtown and the World Trade Center site. But on the fifth anniversary of 9/11, precious little has been rebuilt. The sum total of the accomplishments at Ground Zero are the replacement for 7 World Trade Center (a gorgeous building, but largely unoccupied); the reconstructed #1 subway tunnel (important, but largely invisible); and the WTC PATH station (which is temporary).

In a fascinating long article called “The Hole in the City,” published today in the Times, Deborah Sontag reviews all of the missteps that have gotten us to where we are today, with Ground Zero still what it was on September 12, 2001: a 16-acre hole in the ground. Several key errors have created this five-year stalemate. Most of them are directly attributable to Governor George Pataiki’s incompetence. He either made the decisions himself, or selected the key people who did:

1. Larry Silverstein. His lease with the Port Authority compelled the agency to replace the office space that was lost on 9/11. Early on, the government could have forced him out. That would have meant the loss of lease payments that total more than $100m per year. But rather than frankly admitting the trade-off, leaders kept dancing around it, hoping the issue would quietly go away. It hasn’t.
2. The Families. Early on, Pataki decided to kow-tow to the families who lost loved ones in the 9/11 attacks. Their near-veto power over the site has been a constant impediment to development. Incredibly, Pataki’s impetuous announcement that the footprints would be considered sacred (one of the 9/11 families’ highest priorities) was not cleared in advance with site planners.
3. Daniel Libeskind. Pataki hand-picked Liebeskind’s ugly site plan, overruling rebuilding officials’ preference for a rival plan. Today, most of Liebeskind’s plan has been compromised out of existence. But his continuous presence has been a constant irritant. Liebeskind had no experience with a project on this scale, and many of his ideas were wildly impractical. Years ago, Liebeskind should have been thanked for his contributions, and sent packing.
4. The Freedom Tower. This massive skyscraper, a symbolic 1,776 feet tall, was supposed to be the site’s iconic landmark. But Liebeskind put it in the wrong place, at the corner of the site that’s farthest from mass transportation, and Pataki refused to move it. The governor presided over the laying of the cornerstone on July 4, 2004. Since then, the stone has been “unlaid,” and put into storage. A costly redesign was mandated after the police department insisted the building had to conform to the security requirements of an overseas U. S. embassy. (These are the same cowards who have refused to re-open Park Row in Lower Manhattan.) It is still not clear whether the Freedom Tower will get built, as Pataki has not delivered on his promise to secure government tenants for it.
5. Culture. I thought it was a great idea to mix culture and commerce at Ground Zero. But of the four cultural tenants the rebuilding agency selected, not one was a marquis name. Pataki ejected two of the four, out of fear that they would showcase unpatriotic content. The remaining two don’t seem to have a prayer of raising the $50m required to build a Frank Gehry-designed theater on the site’s northern edge.
6. Transportation. On the transit front, there has actually been some good news. Construction is well underway for the Fulton Street Transit Center and the new South Ferry Terminal. But to accommodate the former project, almost 150 small businesses lost their leases. A temporary PATH terminal, which cost some $300 million, opened just two years after 9/11. Its permanent replacement, at a price over $2 billion, is now under construction. Developers called it a “downtown Grand Central.” But maybe it’s just wretched excess. Grand Central has 45 sets of train tracks, while the PATH station has just five. The new station will have space for an express train service to JFK airport—another Pataki priority—but there’s no assurance it will ever get built.

All over downtown, there are large banners proclaiming all the great things that will get built by 2009 or 2010. Anyone who has followed the lack of progress downtown knows the instinctive response: Don’t hold your breath.

Alto

Note: Alto closed in March 2011, along with its sister restaurant Convivio on the same day, due to unspecified “business circumstances.”

*

Alto is the newer of a duo of Italian restaurants by chef-wunderkind Scott Conant. Eric Asimov awarded three stars to L’Impero in December 2002, while Frank Bruni gave Alto a two-star kiss-off in July 2005. For a restaurant helmed by so well regarded a chef, it was a significant slapdown. Bruni seemed almost vengeful in that review, calling Alto “haute and bothered,” but it never really made sense. A celebration for my friend’s birthday provided the excuse to see for ourselves whether Bruni was right.

Alto is named for the Alto Adige a region of northern Italy. It’s a companion to L’Impero, which features the food of southern Italy. But Conant plays with flavors and ingredients, and aside from an emphasis on pasta dishes, one is not really conscious of a focus on Italy. We ordered the seven-course tasting menu ($115) with wine pairings ($75). The server said that the kitchen would substitute freely, but we took the menu as printed. After a delicious amuse-bouche of smoked trout, we had:

Branzino Tartare (avocado, gremolata and preserved lemon vinaigrette)
Poached Black Sea Bass (caponata panzanella and lemon thyme broth)
Veal and Fontina Angolotti (organic baby carrots, baby mushrooms, and parmigiano emulsion)
Risotto with Frogs Legs (summer squash and black truffles)
Roast Suckling Pig (smoked corn, chanterelles and black pepper agrodolce)
Braised Beef Short Ribs (vegetable and farro risotto)
Warm Chocolate Ganache (milk chocolate gelato, roasted peanot froth)

We found the pacing and variety of the dishes, the combination of ingredients, and the quality of the presentation, all impeccable. The first four dishes were unanimous hits. The branzino tartare was meltingly delicious. The crunchy caponata was a perfect contrast to the soft black sea bass. We noted that the risotto ran rings around the one we had at Del Posto (for which Mario Batali charges $50). I found my suckling pig a bit tough, but my friend said that her portion was wonderfully tender. Short ribs, I suppose, were a rote inclusion not quite as exciting as the other items. The staff were alerted in advance that it was my friend’s birthday, and her dessert came with “Happy Birthday” written on the plate in chocolate calligraphy.

Conant has made some changes since Frank Bruni’s two-star review. Some dishes that skewed towards German-Austrian cuisine have been dropped. There is no longer a bottle of olive oil on every table. The menu, formerly prix fixe-only at dinner ($75 for four courses), is now available à la carte. It was a Saturday night, and the restaurant was not full — I suspect they are starting to get desperate. The décor, which Bruni hated, appears to be unchanged. For us, it was elegant, refined, serene—delightful.

We found the service attentive and impressive. Many dishes were delivered with half-moon covers, and the food uncovered with that voila! moment that is so seldom seen these days in restaurants. I was mildly irritated when we ordered champagne, but the sommelier could not explain what it was. (“It just came in and I’m not too familiar with it, but I’ll be happy to help you with any of your other wine selections.”) At $15 per glass, she should know.

There was an addictive selection of homemade breads, but oddly enough they came with no butter, and the bread server’s accent was so thick that we couldn’t quite understand all of the five choices. A couple of the other dishes were dropped off by barely-comprehensible servers. Am I asking too much when I suggest that at a restaurant of Alto’s calibre, a reasonable command of English should be required of those entrusted with describing the food?

These minor complaints aside, Alto did a lovely job on a special occasion. We would gladly go back.

Update: The day before our visit, Eater put Alto on deathwatch, with an over/under of January, noting that “Conant’s investors can’t be very happy with the thin dinner crowds. There’s even a rumor circulating that the venue is up for sale, which, no, does not bode well at all.” I hope it survives, but I must admit the same thought crossed my mind when I saw the number of empty tables on a Saturday night.

Update 2: Since our visit, Scott Conant has departed, and Michael White is now the chef. For an early look, see Randall Lane’s review in Time Out New York.

Alto (520 Madison Avenue, entrance on 53rd Street, East Midtown)

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

Four Eyed Monsters

In 2002, Arin Crumley and Susan Buice met on an Internet dating service. Crumley hatched the idea that the two struggling artists would communicate solely through “notes, pics, music and videos.” When they had sex for the first time, they had never spoken to one another, though they had exchanged plenty of post-it notes. A year later, they quit their jobs, went deeply into debt, and made a feature film about their peculiar relationship. It’s called Four Eyed Monsters — Crumley’s term for romantic couples.

The film was accepted by the Slamdance Film Festival and premiered there in January 2005. It has since been seen at 18 festivals. Unable to find a distributor, Crumley and Buice have distributed it themselves. People vote on their website, and if there are at least 150 votes in a city, they arrange for it to be shown there. There are showings in six cities during September. In New York, it will be seen every Thursday in September at the IFC Film Center, 323 Sixth Avenue at West Fourth Street. A friend and I saw it last week.

Without Crumley’s “no speaking” rule, there would be nothing worth watching about the relationship of two New York twenty-somethings. That, and the couple’s very dark sense of humor, make Four Eyed Monsters compelling viewing. Crumley and Buice are so insecure that it would take years on an analyst’s couch to work out their inner demons. But they are able to laugh about themselves and their artistic alienation, without which the film would be an overly precious exercise in navel-gazing.

The film also has an under-current of what one audience-member called meta-narrative. It’s a film about two people who decide to make a film about their relationship, and the film they make is the one you’re watching. Crumley and Buice do a compelling job of dramatizing the early days of their relationship, cleverly mixing animation and live action. Some of the film is a re-creation of past events, and other parts are the actual videos and e-mails that they exchanged while they were dating. It’s no small feat to re-tell your own story, and then act it out too, without boring the audience. Crumley and Buice have managed it.

Early on — it might actually be the first date — their relationship hits a snag that would probably stop 99% of relationships dead in their tracks. That it doesn’t is attributable to two factors. Buice has never created anything on her own that she is happy with. And Crumley wants to get laid regularly, something he has never done before meeting Buice. What begins as a romantic relationship turns into a cottage industry. A series of video podcasts available on their website is partly, made in the film’s same edgy style, blurs the line between soap opera and marketing.

My friend, who is romantic at heart, pointed out that we never see an actual romance. “Do they even hold hands?” she asked? No, they don’t. It is entirely commercial. The relationship and the product have become one. We disagreed on which of the two leads is more appealing. My friend found Buice chilly and sterile, while I had the same reaction to Crumley. While both share the directing, producing, editing, acting and writing credit, it appeared to both of us that Crumley is the artistic mastermind. The no-talking rule, without which there would be no film, was his idea. When it wore out its welcome with her, he insisted on continuing it.

Crumley and Buice attended the screening and took questions afterwards. There’s a small coterie of groupies following their appearances. Someone in the audience wanted to ask whether the couple are still together (there were Internet rumors of a split), but he couldn’t just come out and ask it. Buice finally rescued him, and said they still live in Williamsburg, and sleep together on a twin mattress. Another audience member congratulated them on giving a better answer than they did last time (whenver that was).

Crumley said that we’d seen a new cut of the film, including an improved ending. Some people in the audience thought it still needed work, while others advised them to leave it alone. Buice suggested that perhaps the time was coming to “stick a fork in it,” but Crumley suggested that the tweaking might continue. Do they have another great project in them? Their website links to a short film that Buice did by herself. It’s awful.

Four Eyed Monsters, however, is a clever experimental film, and well worth checking out.

Harry's Steak

I visited Harry’s Steak last week, having dined at the companion Harry’s Café a couple of months ago. I went in with a steak on my mind, but the server talked me into other selections, and they were so good I just have to mention them.

Canadian bacon is common at New York steakhouses, but Harry’s version ($6.50), hickory smoked in-house, is served with the bone, and apple sauce on the side for dipping.  I’ve never seen bacon served that way, but as good as it was, I was only too happy to gnaw the bone clean after polishing off the bacon.

Most steakhouses have a crab cake appetizer, but here too Harry’s made it special. Their version ($15.75) was served in a shallow pool of shrimp bisque—again, a unique touch that shows an extremely thoughtful hand at work in the kitchen.

At another table, I heard a guy telling his companions that Harry’s is now his favorite steakhouse. As he put it, “You can go to Sparks, wait for an hour, and have a mediocre steak; or, you can come here, get seated immediately, and have an excellent one.”

Once again, the restaurant was not full. Both servers that came to my table were rather obviously “up-selling” me, but service was otherwise a happy experience. The steakhouse is in the former wine cellar, but it has been totally redone and is quite comfortable.

Harry’s Steak (97 Pearl Street at Hanover Square, Financial District)

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

Buddakan

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Candela

Note: Candela closed in March 2007. Evidently, mediocre food in an industrial loft-like setting was as unappealing to others as it was to us. The space re-opened in October 2007 as Irving Mill.

*

The first clue that we were in for a mediocre meal at Candela was the blurb on the restaurant’s OpenTable profile: “New American Cuisine offered in an industrial loft like setting illuminated by candles.” The second clue came when we arrived and saw the menu, which offers sushi rolls, pasta dishes, and everything in between. Any restaurant attempting to cover such a far-ranging territory is bound to have more misses than hits.

The dark industrial candle-lit setting screams “date place” — and indeed, I would recommend it for that. It doesn’t scream “Sushi place,” but a Sesame Crusted Shrimp roll ($7) turned out to be the meal’s highlight. Crispy Atlantic Halibut with mushrooms, spring onions, and sweet pea puree ($24) was a competent but dull performance. My friend thought the same about Fresh Ricotta Rigatoni ($14).

I was pleased to see an ample selection of wines in the $30–40 range. I’ve forgotten which one we settled on, but in relative terms it was a bargain. I wasn’t gouged on a cocktail ($8), either.

Candela (116 E. 16th Street between Park Avenue South & Irving Place, Union Square)

Food: acceptable
Service: acceptable
Ambiance: *
Overall: acceptable for a low-key date place, but I won’t rush back

A Tale of Two Steakhouses

For a more recent review of Craftsteak, click here. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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