A Life Worth Eating » New York City

The Queens Kickshaw

Adam — Sat, 08 Oct 2011 19:53:36 +0000

I first visited The Queens Kickshaw when I learned they had received a La Marzocco Strada MP, the latest of a new line of hand-crafted espresso machines from the Florentine manufacturer that allows for the manual control of a shot’s pressure profile during the extraction. In theory, this kind of pressure control can bring out flavors of coffee beans that traditional machines cannot. While this fancy machine was the bait that drew me into Astoria, it was the flavor of the resulting coffee that kept me coming back. The more I visited the Kickshaw, the more impressed I became.

Owner Ben Sandler is the barista in charge. While he’s made it clear from the beginning the Kickshaw is not only about coffee, they happen to serve a great shot; one of the best in the city, in fact. Single origin coffees from Coffee Labs Roasters rotate in the grinder, most of the lots trackable online to a specific farm ensuring fair-trade practices. In addition to espresso drinks pulled from the Strada MP, the Kickshaw does V60 pour over and, more recently, 12-hour cold brew coffee on tap.

When talking with Ben, one quickly discovers his insatiable curiosity as he speaks enthusiastically about how he plans to tinker with this and toy with that; he’s always thinking of something new and exciting. This explains the Queens Kickshaw being the first shop in New York — and perhaps the country — to serve cold brew coffee on tap. It explains the constantly changing rotation of artisanal beers and the ever changing single-origin beans in the grinder. It also explains the experimental dishes behind the counter, such as house-fermented berries used to make fruit shrubs. What really makes the Queens Kickshaw special is its juxtaposition of three seemingly different foods: coffee, beer, and grilled cheese. Only when they are under one roof in a shop open most of the day and night does the combination make sense.

The front of The Queens Kickshaw facing Broadway. In addition to one of the few shops in the city with great coffee, it’s perhaps the only one open serving coffee of this quality until 1am.

Cafe Cortado, single-origin Nayarit Mexican beans - Two ounces of milk to two ounces of espresso. These Nayarit beans had a subtle acidity that, when combined with the steamed milk, yielded a flavor similar to strawberries and cream.

Double ristretto of beans from Nayarit, Mexico – A single shot pulled from a 18g double basket. This shot was fragrant and fruity. While the La Marzocco Strada MP does allow for manual paddle control to adjust the pressure of the extraction, it seems like that feature goes unused: the paddle is simply too sensitive for baristi to manipulate. However, that doesn’t seem to affect the quality of the shot.

Cappuccino - A welcome morning shot of espresso with 5oz of steamed milk and a gorgeous rosetta.

Iced matcha tea - A concentrated shot of unsweetened whipped matcha tea with oversized cubes of ice. This is absolutely delicious; its flavor is grassy and bright.

From the beginning, the Kickshaw was set up to serve beer on draft from the existing tubing piped up from the basement. Given the limited amount of retail space, Ben explains, it was a natural extension to keep the cold brew in the basement and push it up through the tap. Apparently the first few cups that he served this had a hint of beer left over, which actually tasted quite good when combined with the coffee. I wouldn’t be surprised to see something like this on the menu soon.

Cold brew on tap - A chilled glass of concentrated cold brew coffee piped up from the basement through the tap line. The flavor was light and citrusy making it refreshing.

Fontina Val d’Aosta – An open-face sandwich of marinated mushrooms and basil pesto on focaccia. A cheesy, earthy blend of mushrooms and pesto with a semi-firm Italian cow’s milk cheese atop a springy focaccia. The cheese itself is woody which pairs really nicely with the mushrooms. This is one of my favorite sandwiches on the menu.

Manchego and ricotta – Grilled multigrain bread sandwiching manchego and ricotta cheeses with minted eggplant and capers. The first thing I noticed about this sandwich was the butter and how it brings out the flavor of nuts from the bread. This pairs well with the nuttiness of the Spanish sheep’s milk manchego, whose tanginess also helps reduce the buttery mouth feel. The bite of acidity from the capers adds another layer of complexity. This is a very good sandwich.

Cheddar and mozzarella - Thick wedges of buttery brioche pouring with white cheddar cheese. This is the quintessential sandwich that comes to mind when I imagine grilled cheese. The light and fluffy bread soaks up the butter on the griddle adding a bit of weight, while the griddle adds texture and a gorgeous golden-brown color. The balance of sweet butter and salty cheese is what makes this sandwich a classic.

Arahovas Feta – An open-face focaccia topped with feta, red pepper, and dill. A lighter sandwich with minimal saucing, led by the frutiness of the red pepper spread.

Egg & cheese - A morning favorite. Thick slices of crustless, buttered brioche sandwiching egg, ricotta, and gruyere with thyme and a maple hot sauce. The balance of sweet, spicy, and salty combined with the umami from the cheese makes this a great sandwich.

Great hill blue - Crunchy cranberry-raisin bread oozing with Great Hill blue cheese, prune jam, and fresh pears. This is my favorite grilled these sandwich at the Kickshaw. The balance of sweet dried fruit with the salty intensity of the blue cheese keeps every bite interesting.

Hellgate Farm Open Market - Recently on Sunday’s, Astoria’s Hellgate Farm has set up a stand inside the Kickshaw selling organic locally grown produce. All the fruits and vegetables are grown are grown in Queens utilizing the courtyard and roof of a townhouse just down the block. Tough to imagine a better way to enjoy a summer Sunday than starting with a shot of espresso pulled from a Strada MP and leaving with a basket of fresh tomatoes and mission figs.

The Queens Kickshaw is a shop that features several concepts at once: coffee, beer, grilled cheese, and occasional farmer’s market without spreading itself too thin. The Kickshaw is at the forefront of a new wave of artisanal shops and restaurants opening up in this outer borough. If you haven’t ventured into Astoria yet, this is a pretty good reason to do so.

Abraço Espresso

Adam — Wed, 03 Nov 2010 02:35:07 +0000

It would be difficult to call Abraço a coffee house, let alone a shop. While it is about the size of a small closet, Abraço is home to the finest espresso equipment in the industry. Don’t let the stacked New York Greek take-out coffee cups, hanging aluminum pots, and scratched plexiglass display cases graffitied with the day’s specials fool you: this place serves serious coffee.

Underneath the hodgepodge of baking accessories are individual clay drip pots and brown sacks of Arabica beans all of which surround the space’s centerpiece: the luxurious Florentine La Marzocco espresso machine accurate to 0.1 degrees Celsius. These guys know how to pull espresso.

But, it seems as if the atmosphere is maybe a little too friendly. Regulars are greeted with warm smiles and jokes are shouted through the front door to friends sitting on one of three makeshift benches. The staff really does a great job making everyone feel welcome and their smiles are contagious. But once in a while the baristi seem to lose their focus. Despite the fancy equipment, the espresso here is inconsistent. During my several visits I sampled espresso ranging from flawless, with nuances of caramel, raspberry, and dark chocolate to occasionally watery, sometimes sour, and once over extracted. When they concentrate, the espresso is equal to Ninth Street or Stumptown. When they’re focused elsewhere, it’s average.

If the bar is crowded, I recommend sticking to iced coffee or drip coffee where there are less variables. It’s guaranteed to be good. When it’s empty, which doesn’t happen too often, be sure to get an espresso: it can be one of the best in the city.

Note: Some comments questioned the correct names of the owners as drawn from NY Times and VIA Travel. I have since removed them.

The Breslin

Adam — Mon, 11 Oct 2010 15:08:57 +0000

The Breslin is the restaurant of New York’s Ace Hotel. Part vampire’s billiard room, part dot com entrepreneurial hangout, The Breslin is a mix of well-dressed diners in a dark and cavernous space which, despite the large North-facing windows, absorbs all natural light making it seem like a perpetually rainy day. The clientele is young and almost uncomfortably homogenous, a mix of caucasian and Asian. The atmosphere is one of exclusivity — there is always a wait for a lunch table. The young and hip staff, a little cold at first, is pleasantly warm and friendly after opening up. They’re really good-looking, too. There is no way that they eat from this menu daily.

Perhaps in an act of rebellion, the restaurant serves little to no healthful options. Even the weekend brunch low-fat options are sky high in sugar and refined carbohydrates. The menu, in fact, is rigidly carnivorous. An attempt to substitute or modify a dish will be met with a blank stare of disdain, but quickly followed by a tempered smile and a frown of calculated impossibility.

The best way to describe the dishes here are as “real.” There are no plays on words and no organic biodynamic vegetables are featured in italics (though in reality, they very well may be so). The menu reads straightforward with each dish’s ingredients listed on a single line.

On my recent visit, I ordered the chargrilled lamb burger with cumin mayo and thrice cooked chips. The Breslin’s burger is certainly one of the best in the city. Diners are not asked how they take their hamburgers, all are served medium rare. The marbleized fat deposits are clearly visible throughout, glistening between purple-pink strips of rich and tender meat. The rotund patty sits between two generous slices of crispy Ciabatta. The airy bread with its spoon-like dimples serves as a vehicle to deliver the dripping clarified butter straight to my coronary arteries. It also prevents the bun from getting soggy, all the way up to the last bite.

The burger is extremely tender, its meat pulls apart from the sole squeezing pressure of holding it in my hands. The clarified butter drips off the surface; part of it slips onto the wooden cutting board on which this burger is served, the rest is absorbed by the Bounty-like bun. The cumin mayonnaise, served on the side, is great to add an earthy spice for alternating bites.

I really love the hamburgers here. But unlike spotted pig, these are really greasy, almost unnecessarily (and intentionally) so. I hate arriving hungry and leaving uncomfortably with a heavy stomach and drained energy. These burgers are work. I think they are best for sharing.

The thrice cooked chips taste and smell of pork fat, likely the oil in which they are deep fried. This meaty taste amplifies the burger and a shallow dip in the spiced mayonnaise somehow highlights the golden potatoes. The chips are both crispy and chunky providing tremendous textural diversity.

I wish the menu had more diversity, particularly lighter options, so I could justify visiting more often. While I visit the adjacent Stumptown almost daily, once every two months is more than enough to exhaust the options available here. But for those looking for a juicy hamburger, The Breslin is guaranteed to fulfill any such craving.

Stumptown Coffee

Adam — Tue, 30 Mar 2010 19:23:15 +0000

Drinking coffee is just as much about the ritual as it is about the flavor.

The imagery of escaping a hectic world to a calm coffee shop, nestling into an oversized chair, and sipping a drinkable work of art is the most inexpensive and cathartic 5-minute vacation money can buy. The added euphoria from high concentrations of caffeine is just icing on the cake.

However, good luck finding a seat in New York. Many of the newer coffee shops worth mentioning, like Abraço and Zibetto Expresso Bar, adopt the Italian stand-up counter-style concept of espresso whereby lingering is discouraged. And for the great shops with seats, like Joe the Art of Coffee and Ninth Street Espresso, it’s either tough to find one or the boisterous atmosphere doesn’t warrant productivity. This isn’t a bad thing, per se, but there are times where I’d like to have an intimate conversation, or conduct a meeting, and the above shops aren’t necessarily conducive to it.

Stumptown is different. Adjacent to the Ace Hotel in midtown off Broadway, Stumptown shares its seating with the hotel lobby. Yes there is still a counter for Italianophiles. But with the impressively fast complimentary wireless internet and abundance of seating in a dimly lit room, the Stumptown/Ace Hotel lobby is quickly becoming an entrepreneurial hotspot. As evidenced by the sea of glowing white apples, tight jeans, and headphones, the young atmosphere is opportune to both work and relaxation.

The coffee is excellent, too. The shop roasts its beans daily just across the east river in Red Hook, Brooklyn. The debonair baristi, dressed with rolled-up sleeves and fedoras, are well-trained with a low tolerance for imperfection. During my first visit, the barista threw out my macchiato twice before finally approving the third (heck the first two looked perfect to me).

The house espresso blend is called Hair Bender and is served as a double ristretto, fourteen grams of espresso per twenty-five second shot. The aroma is of semi-sweet chocolate with hints of toast and notes of roses. All milk comes from Hudson Valley Farms which is sweet enough on its own, not calling for the addition of sugar in a macchiato or cappuccino. All of the equipment is La Marzocco, accurate to within a tenth of a degree to extract as much natural oils from the beans as possible in twenty five seconds without burning.

The staff, so it seems, is genuinely kind too. Aside from conversation starters asking how my day has been and where I’m from, I once made a fool of myself by dropping my iPhone into my cappuccino, and without asking, replacement cappuccino was made immediately. I still felt pretty stupid, but they definitely didn’t have to do that.

And so Stumptown is now a member of my three favorite coffee places in the city, right alongside Joe the Art of Coffee and Ninth Street Espresso. But the comfortable seating and radiant energy makes me go there much more regularly than anywhere else. The environment is perfect for enjoying an espresso with a group of friends, or for sipping a cappuccino while coding with headphones. It is one of the first spaces in New York that, upon entry, transports me to San Francisco. And I highly recommend it.

Momofuku Ko

Adam — Tue, 23 Mar 2010 06:51:14 +0000

Before deciding to visit Momofuku Ko, a diner is wise to ask how far he should go for good food.

To start, the restaurant only accepts reservations via their website. Starting from 10am, spots fill up in a matter of seconds. This got pretty frustrating after the first two weeks. I wrote a small python script to automatically find the next available reservation and to book it. Except it didn’t work. In some cases the day opened with no available tables. Other times availability lasted just an instant. In other words, people were clicking so quickly that even automated attempts were stressful and futile. I gave up after a few weeks of trying, until one day, I saw the green check of availability.

To further complicate things, the lower east side restaurant is easy to miss: it looks like a shop with the security gates permanently locked. The entrance is completely encased in a ragged metal mesh which blocks out most daylight, reminiscant of the eletromagnetic mesh cage in which Gene Hackman‘s extremely paranoid character worked in Enemy of the State. It’s fenced up like a prison. It’s very unwelcoming.

The service was laid-back yet distant. It seemed like the staff was playing out a more formal service than perhaps they were accustomed to. The interior was silent and scary. It was as if they secretly hated everyone there; but couldn’t decide just how much right away. The chefs, or at least the one working in front of me, were like David Chang robots. When I asked about the strict no-photo policy, I was hammered with a verbatim recitation of David Chang’s interview with Anthony Bourdain–complete with identical pauses and sighs. His trained response was “it’s just food … [pause to build suspense] … man.”

In spite of David Chang’s intense disdain, I wrote down notes about what I was eating. The maitre’d sneered at me throughout the meal. I felt like I was doing something wrong for wanting to remember my meal accurately. I didn’t even think about asking for a printed menu after seeing the intense dislike directed towards a guy a few seats down from me asking questions.

However, despite the serious service problems, and overwhelming feelings of coldness and discomfort, the 19-course tasting was overall delicious, filled with bursts of genius.

Crayfish arancino: a baked rice ball coated with breadcrumbs and filled with chunks of crayfish. This was served warm, like an Italian gougère. It could have used a pinch more salt. I was so worried this would burn my mouth, but it was just the right temperature.

Pomme soufflé, crème fraîche, hackleback caviar: a miniature cylindrical tube of pomme soufflé filled with crème fraîche and topped with caviar. The caviar acted as the salting element, combining earth and sea, making this a very balanced bite.

Greenmarket radish, salted butter: a mid-sized mild radish without much burn. The butter was on the sweeter side. In general I prefer saltier, stronger tasting butters like Beurre de Bordier served at l’Arpège or Manresa, so I wasn’t crazy about this one.

Island Creek oyster, hackleback caviar, lime, chive: this was served sashimi-style on a cube of packed ice in a wooden stand. Just like at Masa or Urasawa. The lime was generously applied, cutting through much of the brine. Overall this tasted exceptionally fresh and clean.

Kanpachi, lemon jam, white soy sauce, daikon sprout: the freshness of the amberjack was apparent immediately by the crunchy texture with a subtle sweetness. The lemon jam was used very sparingly adding just a hint of acidity and brightness to the fish.

Long Island fluke, tobanjyan, picked scallion, chive blossom, suba stem, two-year-aged soy sauce: at first this dish sounded overly complicated; but the combinations of sweet, salty, and spicy all came together really well with the fresh fish, providing a generous range of textures. The slightly fermeted chili sauce on here added a level of complexity.

Diver scallop, meyer lemon juice & zest, freeze-dried soy sauce, shiso, watermelon radish: a chunky diver scallop salted by coarse flakes of dehydrated soy sauce. The meyer lemon brightened the entire dish, particularly the crunchy slices of water-laden radish cubes. This provided an overall fantastic aroma and flavor making it my hands-down favorite dish of the afternoon. This was the last dish served on the block of compressed ice.

Uni, yuba, puffed black rice, horseradish, suba stems: the yuba had a smooth tannic quality that complimented the sweet creaminess of the sea urchin. Small puffs of black rice added textural contrast while a hint of horseradish lifted the sweetness.

Soft-shell crab hand roll, sugar snap peas, XO sauce, kewpie mayonnaise, dried shrimp: a very crunchy crab shell that crunched with each bite. It was pretty spicy. What killed this dish for me was that the hand roll was left sitting on the counter a little too long making the nori soggy. Seaweed surrounding a hand roll has a shelf-life of about 15 seconds. After that the dry seaweed crunch yields to wet sogginess.

Warm sliced octopus, mustard-cured cabbage, sea beans, lime, espelette aioli, buckwheat croquette: the octopus was sliced so thin that it melted on the buckwheat croquette. It developed a fatty texture not unlike lardo.

Puffed egg, Benton’s bacon dashi, kombu soaked in soy sauce, bagel stuffed with bacon-chive cream cheese: this was awful, the least enjoyable dish of the afternoon. It was kind of like a soft wet omelette dumped in a bowl of dashi. The fluffy egg began to disintegrate in the broth almost instantly, like the remnants of a breakfast buffet trolly.

Pea soup, housemade soft tofu, morels, bacon salt, radish sprouts: a very soft tofu sitting inside a thin broth of peas. Like the soggy puffed egg above, this was a mix of textures that I didn’t find appealing. The flavor of the pea soup was also bland.

Turbot poached in cherry blossom broth, hackleback caviar, hearts of palm, cucumber, lemongrass oil, swiss chard: a firm nugget of overcooked turbot served in strips that had been rolled before poaching. The fish was a bit under-salted despite the addition of hackleback caviar.

Cannelloni of rabbit leg & liver, rabbit bacon, fennel frond puree, minced fennel, pork cheek sauce: I liked how the licorice flavor from the fennel brought out the sweetness of the rabbit leg. However the pasta became spongy very quickly, perhaps from a second cooking in the fennel frond puree.

Shaved foie gras, lychee, pine nut brittle, riesling gelee: this was a brilliant dish, turning the foie gras into a creamy accompaniment that lasted as long as each bite on the plate. The frozen foie gras melted in my mouth like snow. The saltiness of the shaved liver with sweetness of the lychee swirled together in balance. This is a recipe I will certainly be trying at home, although the idea of shaving frozen foie gras gives me chills.

Long Island duck stuffed under the skin with vadouvan-spiced duck sausage, grilled rice & baby leeks, cassis & vadouvan sauce: this was excellent. The duck was uniformly soft and juicy crowned with a thin crispy layer of fat. The meat itself was somehow lean but not dry at all.

Manchester cheese from Consider Bardwell Farm, compressed pineapple, pistachio praliné, ground pistachio: the sweetness of the pineapple overwhelmed the delicate flavor of the cheese making the entire dish too sweet. I did like the crunch from the chunks of candied pistachio, but the cheese was almost an afterthought.

Parsnip ice cream, grapefruit, hazelnut nougat, fudge: the frozen nougat had an elastic texture that was both chewy and crunchy at once. It tasted like the grapefruit had been soaked in sugar water as it had no bitterness. Overall, a nice dessert.

Arnold Palmer sorbet, ice tea gelée, lemon cake crumble: A tart sorbet sitting atop a crunchy lemon cake. The ice tea gelée had a surprisingly crunchy texture as well.

My take-home gift was a small jar of pickled carrots and radish that made a surprisingly nice snack later that night.

Of all the Momofuku restaurants this is certainly the most refined, rife with bold and innovative flavors. A little tweaking of the menu could lift some of the roller coaster lows making the tasting even stronger. Based on food alone, this is probably the most interesting restaurant in the city right now. It sort of hurts to say that since the service and atmosphere is just terrible; but it’s the truth.

So while I probably won’t return, that doesn’t mean that Ko doesn’t warrant a first-time visit. Just leave your camera at home, and bring a lot of patience.

Ninth Street Espresso

Adam — Sat, 06 Mar 2010 17:11:33 +0000

I always liked drip coffee. But it wasn’t until last summer that I began to enjoy espresso. I had a revelation sometime last June, at Joe the Art of Coffee, where for the first time my espresso didn’t taste sour or burnt; rather it was subtle and chocolatey with nutty hints of maple syrup. It was outstanding. And since that moment, I’ve become obsessed.

Frankly it wasn’t until more recently that I began to appreciate the tremendous skill involved with extracting espresso. I began pulling espresso daily using my Rancilio Sylvia modified with an Auber Instruments PID kit to help maintain proper brewing temperature. I started pulling some incredible shots, intermixed with some not-so-great ones. The hardest part, I quickly learned, was consistency. There are so many variables (like temperature, pressure, temping pressure, grind size, ambient humidity, and bean age) that turned this into a real science. What makes Ninth Street so impressive is its consistency: rarely have I had a poorly extracted espresso. Their baristi too, are obsessed.

Ninth Street Espresso deserves the credit of introducing New York City to a new wave of coffee brewers. Ones that took an eye to quality and taste, rather than quantity and dollars. Having opened nearly ten years ago in 2001 by Ken Nye, Ninth Street has brewed the coffee of every major American roaster: Stumptown, Counter Culture, and currently Intelligentsia, which roasts their own Alphabet City blend. And as such the attitude of the baristi is one of understated confidence: not pretentious; but they sure know what they are doing.

My favorite way to drink espresso is a triple macchiato. It’s what I make at home every morning. A 21-gram puck tamped with around thirty pounds of pressure, extracted for just over 25-seconds and “stained” with a dollop of whole milk. The ability to create art (a “rosetta”) while pouring the milk indicates the perfect texture and temperature of the silky smooth micro-foam: too thin and and the milk will just blend, too thick and it will sit on top of the espresso with large bubbles. While I do enjoy this drink by itself, a pinch of Sugar in the Raw brings out the caramel and chocolate flavors even more.

When I’m in the mood to linger for a longer conversation, I order a triple cappuccino. It uses the same twenty-one gram shot of espresso, only significantly more milk. The wider cup and added milk gives the barista more flexibility to make artwork on the top, usually in the form of a heart or olive leaf. The sweet whole milk needs no additional sugar.

All of Ninth Street’s espresso drinks use triple shots. But don’t get scared, this is not the same as a triple espresso. It’s actually a triple ristretto (Italian for “restricted”), meaning three times the beans but for the same extraction time yielding the same quantity of a single shot. (A traditional double espresso has double the quantity, and a triple espresso, triple the quantity.) So here, the result is a more luxurious shot (extra wasted beans) with more natural oils. The caffeine content is something in-between a single and double espresso. By contrast, Joe the Art of Coffee does something similar but with double-ristrettos (14g) instead of triples (21g).

So make a morning out of it. Being located in Alphabet City means the original Ninth Street is not so easy to get to. But this can be a good thing: there is always ample seating and a laid back atmosphere filtering out all but the most dedicated coffee cognoscenti. Don’t be afraid to strike up a conversation with the baristi. Even if they appear a bit quiet or even austere at first, they enjoy educating customers about their coffee and technique. It’s a learning experience that won’t be forgotten. And what better way to learn something new, than with a rich chocolatey macchiato?

Motorino

Adam — Fri, 05 Mar 2010 17:42:14 +0000

Warning: what you are about to read and see is not safe for work. If you are in a public place, you may want to wait until in the comfort (and safety) of your own home before proceeding. The following photos are pure culinary pornography.

On the other side of the East River lies a small village known as Williamsburg, rife with flannel shirts, thick-rimmed glasses, beards, attitudes, and now, pretty good pizza.

Being located in Williamsburg affords Motorino a fair amount of space for a restaurant — even outdoor courtyard space. The wood-burning pizza oven in the back is cleverly incased by thick glass to lock in the heat, keeping the dining room cool even in the summertime. The simple yet cosy interior keeps the focus on the pies. I was impressed with how my sun-drenched window table turned into a romantic corner alcove as night fell.

The menu reads pretty simply, with two types of Pizza Margherita one with D.O.C. Buffalo Mozzarella and the other of a lesser quality of mozzarella for a few dollars less. Most of the appetizers are decent and feature seasonal ingredients. I particularly liked my beet salad with acidic red onions and creamy ricotta. But let’s face it, I wasn’t here for the salads.

Pizza Margherita D.O.C. – An 18-inch flat pie decorated with creamy mozzarella, tomato sauce, and basil leaves. This pie was very crispy all around, a fork and knife were not necessary. The cheese and sauce magically bound to the crispy crust: even when I held a slice vertically, nothing slid off. It did seem a bit like the pizza was forcefully catered to my expectations: a little extra cornmeal underneath to make the pie more rustic with, at times, excessive charring to make the crust more real. However, I did buy into Motorino’s authenticity game and enjoyed the pizza. Maybe the crust was a bit too crunchy and lacked elasticity at times; but that’s a personal preference, I suppose.

Pizza Marinara – One look at this pie says it all. It’s a violent display of charred explosions and molten tomato sauce, tempered with a drizzle of olive oil and slices of fresh garlic. It’s outstanding. Just gently painted with fresh tomatoes, the Pizza Marinara is both light and savory with a hint of sweetness coming through from the tomatoes. A fork and knife is not necessary here.

I’ve brought home slices of this pizza several times, and I will say that it keeps exceptionally well for several days. After the first day it’s really more like bread than pizza. It tastes good hot or cold, for breakfast or for dinner, and still maintains its crispy texture despite being refrigerated. The light saucing means this crust will never get soggy.

Special Pizza – Mozzarella, Olive, Anchovy, and Capers – I ordered this pizza to try something completely different and outside my comfort zone. I’m not an anchovy guy. I was surprised at how well the olive’s acidity complimented the salty anchovies all supported by a base of creamy mozzarella. In this situation, the crispy crust was fantastic as it gave significant structure to all the toppings. A fork and knife was still not necessary.

During my visits I’ve rarely laid eyes on Chef Mathieu Palombino behind the counter; but that doesn’t seem to matter. The pizzas are consistent, a testament to his ability to train the staff effectively (I only wish that such pizzaioli actually existed in Mexico — the pizza down there is awful). However while consistent, they lack much of the love and soul found at Kesté.

Is it an authentic Pizza Napoleatana? Sometimes; depends who’s making it. On some visits I’ve had hints of elasticity in the crust; other times, it was more crispy with extra garlic and charring. So while the pizzas are consistently good overall; there is a range of variability in textures and flavors: sometimes it’s more New York-style, other times more Naples-style, and occasionally somewhere in-between. But they sure are consistently gorgeous.

As with any pizza, no two are completely alike. You’ll just have to go see for yourself. And what better way to test this edible chaos theory than with a pizza?

Kesté Pizza & Vino

Adam — Thu, 04 Mar 2010 19:10:16 +0000

Slowly but surely, New York’s quest for authenticity is improving the quality of pizza in the city. The legends of New York-style pizza: DiFara, Patsy’s, Lombardi’s, Grimaldi’s, are facing a wave of new comers bringing traditional Neopolitan-style pies to the Big Apple. Instead of extra large crispy pies overloaded with mozzarella and globs of olive oil, which make no mistake are still delicious, Neapolitan pies are more restrained: smaller, lighter, elastic, and sparse with cheese and saucing. Fork and knife are required. Unfortunately, there aren’t too many places in the city that serve an authentic Naples pie. Kesté is one of them, and it serves the best.

Roberto Caporuscio, chef and co-owner of Kesté Pizza & Vino, is a pizza master. Chef Caporuscio comes from Pontinia, Italy just over an hour north of Naples, the putative birthplace of pizza. After several years of training in Napoli he ventured to the United States to share this traditional style of pizza without compromise. New York-style pizza wasn’t for him. Despite being the president of the Associazione Pizzaiuoli Napoletani, he is rarely found outside of the kitchen. And if he is, his hands are always covered in white dust. Roberto’s enthusiasm for making the perfect pie can be seen almost immediately by watching his slow precise hands working the dough, his eyes almost never straying from the pie.

The dining room is modest, a long narrow corridor with simple wooden tables and chairs lining both sides. On a Saturday night (actually any night, for that matter) the brick walls echo the groans and sighs of a jam-packed room full of ecstatic diners. Kesté does not take reservations, and since the word got out that “this is it” (the rough translation of “Kesté” from Neapolitan dialect) be sure to arrive early.

The menu features authentic items such as the pizza margherita and pizza marinara, as well as more original creations involving squash, mushrooms, truffle oil, and other unique assortments of seasonal ingredients. I’ve heard purists cite the variety of Kesté’s menu as a weakness, saying Naples doesn’t have “salad pizzas.” While that’s probably true, this isn’t Naples and the clientele isn’t from Naples; unless you’re David Chang, having a restaurant in New York without light and vegetarian options is operational suicide. Good luck. Fortunately, Chef Caporuscio uses this to his advantage: the creative pies are still baked in the Neapolitan way, just with toppings to please the diner. However if you’re a member of the cultural police, stick to the first few items on the menu.

Pizza Margherita – A soft and pliable dough, just over a foot in diameter, with crispy charred black spots decorating the rim. The pie was adorned with molten globs of fresh mozzarella, tomato sauce, and crispy basil leaves. In a wood-burning oven this hot, pizzas cook in under a minute. While I tried to use my hands at first, the soft eye of the pizza quickly told me a fork and knife would be easier. Each crack with the knife sent a puff of black dust onto the table. This pizza was just as much fun to cut, as it was to eat. The flavor was extremely fresh and subtle, reminiscent of the first time I made marinara sauce with canned tomatoes. The high quality mozzarella cheese nearly made me reach for the salt shaker, until the subtle sweetness of the tomatoes shone through. This pie was in perfect balance.

It’s always a battle with pizza: eating too quickly will result in a burnt tongue; but wait too long, and the cheese hardens. As tempting as it is to take an immediate bite, I usually try as hard as possible to wait a minute for the molten tomato sauce to cool to a safe temperature. However Kesté’s pies are no bread bowl: sauce is applied sparingly so the cooling time is much quicker. I find thirty seconds to be ideal. At least, that’s the extent of my restraint.

Pizza Marinara – The lightweight cousin to the Pizza Margherita, this pie has no cheese. The same elastic crust is garnished with bright red tomato sauce, slices of roasted garlic, thin crispy basil, and a drizzle of olive oil. There are few things in the world as satisfying as this.

There was a bit of a line on my first trip to the sole bathroom, which afforded me the opportunity to watch Chef Caporuscio in action. He could tell that I was curious, and without taking his eyes off the pizza, managed to keep a conversation. He was genuinely interested in talking about pizza, the places that do it right while omitting the places that did not do it so right. He explained his passion for finding the right ingredients and for methodically assembling and baking them in just a few minutes. I watched as he pulled a pie right from the oven into the trash, “a little too charred on the edges,” he replied. He was a perfectionist.

Mast’nicola – A pie from such an ancient recipe that it doesn’t include tomato sauce. Thin and translucent slices of lardo and basil are spread over the dough and crisped in the oven with a dusting of Pecorino romano. I feared this pie would be dry. It wasn’t. It was this pie that awakened me to Kesté’s true secret: the crust. Part elastic, part crispy, part chewy, part dusty, this crust expanded the entire gamut of texture. It formed a perfect foundation for a variety of topings; but frankly, could easily be enjoyed by itself.

Ripieno (Calzone) - Tomatoes, ricotta, fresh mozzarella, salame, extra virgin olive oil. A pizza folded in half, overflowing and oozing with warm mozzarella and ricotta. Hidden strips of spicy salame were buried under the crust, adding a meaty salt to the overall flavor. I’ve tried on various occasions to get Chef Caporuscio to make a calzone of just ricotta and mozzarella with no tomato sauce and no salame; but every time I got the same dish with a note from the waiter, “Roberto says it doesn’t taste so good like that.” I just wanted to compare this calzone eye-to-eye with my favorite from DiFara; because frankly, this might be my new favorite.

Salsiccia e Friarielli – Chunks of sausage and a vegetable similar to broccoli rabe. The crust was outstanding; but I don’t care much for smoked mozzarella. This was the special pizza of the day, often spontaneous and impromptu creations by the chef. While I did enjoy this; I’m not too sure I would order it again.

Tiramisù and Tiramisù alla fragola – Regular and strawberry tiramisu, moist and wet with a clearly defined shape. The taste of coffee was very light, which I appreciated.

Panna Cotta – Firm and rich, with a delicate hint of vanilla.

Torta Caprese – A dark chocolate and walnut cake spiked with limoncello. This was very heavy and I would only recommend it for those with a rather large appetite. Delicious, nonetheless.

Regina Margherita – like a Pizza margherita only with grape tomatoes and buffalo mozzarella. The added acidity of the tomato skins cuts through much of the cheesy mouth-feel from the traditional margherita. A similar pie, only with burrata instead of mozzarella, is available sometimes as a special. I highly recommend trying the later if it’s available; but only with a large appetite. The squeaky mozzarella spills off the pie onto the plate. It’s almost like drinking cream.

Prosciutto e Rucola – Large layers of prosciutto layered over raw arugula. An obvious choice for salumi lovers looking for something light.

Pizza alla Nutella -Kesté’s signature crust sliced horizontally and layered with nutella. The whole pie is then dusted with sugar. Really now, try to think of a more appealing dessert to share. It’s exceptional (and apparently authentic, says the Chef, too).

Kesté is the best thing to happen to New York’s pizza in a long time, and I find myself constantly returning for another exceptional pie. It’s just always the right decision, for lunch, for dinner, with family, or with friends. And the staff is kind and accommodating, the service prompt and responsive. I highly recommend that everyone visit, and am counting the days until I return to New York.

Marea

Adam — Sun, 21 Feb 2010 17:05:53 +0000

When most New Yorkers think of Italian food, they think of pizza, lasagna, and spaghetti and meatballs: dishes with strong dominantly red sauces. And with good reason. These southern Italian dishes originate where the majority of New York’s Italian immigrants came from. At the turn of the 20th century, New York was the single largest nerve center for Southern Italian immigrants coming over from Naples and Sicily. As a result, Southern Italian cuisine is vastly over-represented in the big apple (which I’m definitely not complaining about). But with this disproportional representation comes the omission of the wonderfully light fish dishes from the coastal cities of Northern Italy.

This is where Marea comes in. As sister restaurant of New York’s other Northern Italian gem, Alto, Marea’s menu is rife with raw seafood. Over half of the menu, in fact. At times some of the plates look Japanese in simplicity and presentation, that is until the golden dab of olive oil shines through.

Marea occupies the former space of San Domenico, which other than perhaps Del Posto, was the most expensive Italian restaurant in the city. In this respect, Chef Michael White’s cuisine is similar: it’s expensive. But the restaurant space has been completely renovated and no longer feels like a scene from CSI Miami. Its reflective hard lacquer surfaces and focused halogen lighting put the food on a well-lit pedestal.

The first glance of the menu brought a huge smile to my face: raw scallops, prawns, sea urchin. This menu read like happiness on a page. Dishes appeared fresh, clean, crisp, and simple: almost as if an Italian and Japanese chef had shared their mutual cultural secrets. I was literally ready to book a second reservation, as getting a table can be difficult, before any of the dishes came to the table. But that sentiment quickly changed.

AMUSE BOUCHE – A white fish soup, olive oil, with a fried crisp of bread. The texture was salty and grainy, much like watered down mashed potatoes. Still, the textures were nicely balanced, and I was starving.

RICCI – sea urchin, lard, sea salt. This was a room temperature slice of sea urchin served atop a slice of toasted baguette and encased in a thin film of lard. The warm urchin was shrink-wrapped by the clear layer of lard, preventing it from dripping off the toast. This was an interesting combination, particularly the salty cured flavor of the lard mixing with the sweetness of the urchin. I like sea urchin for its clean sweet flavor; I did not like how the lard’s saltiness made it taste a few days old. The lard masked the freshness of the fish. This was an interesting combination of two ingredients I like separately; but together, they felt forced. Quite simply, this just didn’t taste good.

SEPPIA – cuttlefish tagliatelle, soffrito crudo, bottarga di muggine. Another dish that sounded great on the menu. Extremely fresh cuttlefish develops an addicting chewy crunch with a hint of elasticity. The texture of this fish definitely had that. But there was so much bottarga on the plate that everything tasted like sour salt. I could not figure out why someone would pair a very fishy tasting bottarga to a sweet and fresh tasting fish. The bottarga seemed out of place and overwhelming; by flavor alone, it was impossible to connect with the freshness of the fish. The fish could have been 2 hours or 2 days old, and would have still tasted a week old. Bottarga has its place by itself and in small quantities; but in this case, completely dominated the subtle flavor of the cuttlefish.

SPARNOCCHI – sweet maine prawns, lemon, black lava salt. This dish sounded fantastic on the menu. Large sweet prawns lifted by a little lemon and salt. In reality the prawns were bitter in taste and the sweetness never came through. I wasn’t sure why the dish was layered with slices of flavorless cucumber. Since the ingredient was not listed in the menu, it was likely more a thoughtless garnish. But why slice them thinly in edible slices if not to be eaten? This seemed too academic without any thought that the watery cucumber offered nothing to the dish, except for the color green. The cucumber skin made the shrimp taste terrible and the overall dish appear lazy.

FUSILLI – red wine braised octopus, bone marrow. This was another dish that just sounded incredible. I’m pretty much always in the mood for L’Os a Moelle, the smell of which immediately brings me back to my two years living in Paris. Its combination with fresh octopus also sounded intriguing. But the red wine sauce was just too sweet and too sour. Each bite of the fusilli left an aspartame-like chemical tingle on my tongue. And the strong sour smell, similar to orange juice, really put me off. The sauce was so thick and abundant that at times this seemed more like a stew as the pasta became pasty. This dish has so much potential; but the night I went, it was the most disappointing of the evening.

TARALLI – nantucket bay scallops, mussels, tomato sauce
This was the highlight dish of the night. While I did find this sauce too sweet as well, the texture of the pasta combined with the briny scallops and mussels kept me distracted. But frankly this dish stood out merely because it was the least offensive of the other dishes. This dish has no offensive ingredient combinations.

UOVO – slow poached egg, black truffle, marsala ragu, polenta cream. A rich and creamy poached egg buried in a bed of polenta cream touched with black truffle. A weightless polenta cream that held together the black truffle and egg, contributing an earthy touch of silky-smooth cornmeal, which tied everything together. This part of the dish was exceptional. However, layered in there was also a marsala “ragu”. The ragu was both sour and sweet, like a red wine sauce that had been sitting on the stove too long. Like the bone marrow fusilli, it smelled like orange juice. The texture of this sauce was thick, clear, and starchy. It was too similar to gooey Americanized Cantonese sauces, and completely offensive to the rest of the dish.

Our waiter brought us a small dish of chocolate petit fours, which were delicious — paper thin layers of chocolate encasing a full spectrum of fruits. We chose to skip dessert.

Aside from the occasionally distracting across the room chant of “ándale güey” (Mexican slang for “Go ahead, man”), the service was excellent. The restaurant was packed and at no point did we feel rushed, particularly with the extended amount of food we ordered. That’s no easy task.

But at the end of the day, the dishes felt forced and unnatural, and did not taste good. Creativity should never be at the expense of flavor, and every chef must at some point step back, look at his dishes, and do a taste test to make sure that they actually work. Nearly every dish we ordered had an offensive ingredient or flavor that tasted like it didn’t belong. But the menu still reads really well, so perhaps the restaurant just needs some more time to settle. I’ll probably re-visit; but not anytime too soon.

Tacos Rossy

Joe the Art of Coffee

Adam — Sun, 18 Oct 2009 17:30:54 +0000

Coffee fuels the city that never sleeps. Unfortunately, most of it is terrible. But there are exceptions.

It would be unfair to not give Starbucks tremendous credit for raising awareness of coffee and its many forms; however, most of its products remain heavily sugared and over-diluted with milk, cream, and syrups. It’s become fast-food drinkable dessert. And even assuming that its beans are of decent quality, its computerized machines over-extract them while many of its unskilled “baristas” continue to flip on the milk steamer and walk away to help other customers, leaving the milk burnt and undrinkable. What was once a trendy logo to carry in your hand is now a red flag for poor taste.

However, a better educated coffee-craving public now has higher demands that Starbucks cannot fulfill in its current form. For this new demand, boutique coffee shops have been opening up and thriving. So much so, in fact, that Starbucks has been opening unbranded, clandestine shops with a community feel to trick consumers into thinking they’re local shops. But no matter how hard they try, it will be hard to emulate what’s available at Joe the Art of Coffee on Waverly.

In looking back at my summer in New York, this small corner shop at 141 Waverly is the one place I kept re-visiting over and over again. Not only is this the best espresso in New York; but frankly, it’s better than anything I’ve had in Italy. I can’t get enough of it.

Espresso here is really a misnomer, since all shots are double ristrettos; instead of 7 grams of ground beans extracted for 25 seconds, 14 grams are extracted in the same amount of time. The net effect is half the stress on each bean resulting in a richer, rounder, thicker pull with more of the natural oils. The resulting taste is of rich dark chocolate and caramel with an intoxicating scent of butter popcorn.

I have noticed that each barista here leaves his own unique signature on the coffee. But whether you get more or less milk in a cappuccino or a heart versus an olive branch in a macchiato really comes down to preference: all the barristas here are highly trained and skillful. Granted the La Marzocco equipment used here, accurate to 0.1 degrees farenheit, narrows the possibility of error a bit. But great coffee is no easy task, and consistently great coffee, as found here, requires the unique blend of deft barristas, great beans, and careful machinery, everything which can be found only here at Joe’s.

Momofuku Noodle Bar

Adam — Mon, 05 Oct 2009 03:49:26 +0000

When I first discovered Momofuku Noodle Bar, the concept bewildered me. A New York ramen restaurant seemed misplaced. How could a low-key Asian street-stall dish be hawked to New York’s hipsters at high prices? Very readily, it turns out. And I believe the reason for the smashing (if not immediate) success of Noodle and its later brethren lies in chef/owner David Chang’s business savvy: small portions, bar seating, loud music, and food that seems at once exotic and comforting. And despite a well-documented hatred for food photography, which I strongly disagree with when done tactfully (no flash and no pictures of diners), Chang allows such gaucherie at the Noodle Bar which means I can share my most recent experience there.

The Noodle Bar is sneaky, offering slightly under-portioned dishes at reasonable prices. Designed to be shared, these small plates add up to cost more than a multi-course tasting menu at one of the city’s fancier restaurants. This low barrier of entry provides diners the comfort of being able to spend modestly, while the small-statured dishes create the illusion possibility of having “just a bite.” Chang is a polarizing figure, with ardent supporters and adamant enemies, but he is tuned in to what the dining public wants in a way many of his peers can only dream of. When one concept doesn’t work, he tries another. Noodle’s namesake items might be the least popular thing on the menu, and at Ssäm they aren’t even available anymore.

In their place is a formidable range of fare that juxtaposes Korean-influenced Asian exoticism and classic American comfort: pork belly sandwiches, fried chicken with a chili glaze, or roasted fingerling potatoes with miso broth to name a few. For the cultural pioneers, non-fusion dishes like Fukuoka’s yatai-influcenced Ramen and ChengDu’s cold spicy noodles are always on the menu. Noodle Bar is a highly customizable experience, working well for a quick snack, a full meal, or just a drink and appetizer with a friend… it’s always a good idea. Perhaps this is why the Noodle Bar is always so crowded, when other restaurants are struggling.

Aaron was kind enough to secure us a reservation for Momofuku’s recently-introduced fried chicken dinner. His efforts involved waking up daily at the crack of 10am and hitting Command+R like his life depended on it to grab a table through the online reservation system. The process is as maddening as that for Ko or the Bo Ssäm at, well, Ssäm. Tables disappear in just seconds. But one lucky morning, a green check popped up among the usual sea of red X’s. I’ve never seen the man move so fast, sprinting to find his credit card and secure the booking.

Ordering that night was fairly simple: fried chicken. In search for dietary equilibrium, however, we ordered a few extra dishes to share amongst the four of us. We started with steamed buns of shiitake mushroom and pork belly. The mushroom was squeaky and juicy, the moisture pouring into the bun with each bite. But I found its flavor a bit too subtle; my guess is its addition on the menu is solely to please vegetarians. The pork buns, however, were exceptional. Sweet hoisin sauce mixed with slightly salty pork, coating the crispy fat in flavor. The welcome addition of scallions helped break up the fatty mouthfeel from this rich cut of pork. The bun here acted like a sponge, soaking up every juice that escaped the meat. These were delicious.

Three additional appetizers made their way to our table, starting with roasted corn, fingerling potatoes, and miso broth. The thick-skinned corn was sweet and light, the scallions and potatoes added for textural contrast. The potatoes also helped to absorb the miso broth. This was my favorite of the three smaller plates. My only complaint is that I had to share it with three other people.

The rice cakes with roasted onions and red chili peppers had a really interesting texture somewhere in-between chewy and crispy, a result of an aggressive pan-frying to finish the cooking process. The first bite was the best because with it came the pronounced contrast between the crispy exterior and sticky-smooth inside. The surface had was slick with hot chili and sweet caramelized onions. I found the pieces to be a little too big, though, leaving the flavor dominated by the rice cake rather than the spicing. They were also quite filling. One piece was enough for me. Aaron seemed quite pleased by my lack of enthusiasm for the dish, however. This has always been one of his favorites here.

The last of the three appetizers was the lightest: heirloom tomatoes with melon, crisped ham, and mint leaves. A combination of sweet and fruity flavors salted by the smoky ham. The tomatoes were particularly sweet. I would have preferred more tomatoes and less melon as the dish only had three split cherry-sized tomatoes and about six times that quantity of melon. Contrary to what the menu promised, this was more of a melon salad with tomatoes.

The highlight of the evening, however, was what we’d all come for. The Momofuku fried chicken: two whole birds, one southern style and one Korean style. The mound of crispy is accompanied by a complete potpourri of fresh long spicy peppers, baby carrots, red ball radishes, bibb lettuce, opal basil and mint. There were also four sauces: ginger-scallion, jalapeño-garlic vinaigrette, hoisin, and chili sauce with a bit of sesame.

The fried chicken was just exceptional — the most memorable I’ve ever had. The Southern-style chicken is marinated in buttermilk and battered with Old Bay and cayenne pepper. The skin and seasoning fused together into a thin bread-like crust. The spices, meanwhile, only augmented the juicy flavor of the chicken without dominating it. Like an air-tight wrapping, the batter locked in the moisture, keeping every bite juicy and moist. I kept looking for excuses to eat just crispy exterior, a chicharrón of chicken.

The Korean-style chicken was equally excellent, triple fried and bathed in chili paste. The crust here is less cakey than the southern style; here, the thin crust forms a crackling paper-mâché like surface enveloping the skin. The flavor is mildly sweet and spicy, making a great contrast to the southern-style. Again, not oily in the slightest.

Aside from the well-cooked meat, this dish was incredibly fun to eat. The multiple sauces and herbs provide a near infinite number of possible flavor combinations. Between a table of four, eating this chicken developed into an interactive game of who could find the best way to combine the chicken with the herbs and fresh vegetables inside the most delicious wrapping. I personally liked making small wraps with a shiso leaf, hoisin sauce, and a nub of southern-style chicken. Aaron seemed to favor the Korean style bird, as evidenced by the bone graveyard left on his plate when he was done. I’m not sure what our two friends preferred, honestly; they stopped talking after the first bite.

This was a very special meal, and one I’d definitely like to repeat. The company was lovely and the conversation…. well, there was very little conversation once the crispy birds were on the table. But for fried chicken, this is definitely the place to go. Just click fast. Those green checks are fleeting.

Di Fara

Adam — Thu, 02 Apr 2009 15:49:33 +0000

New Yorkers take their pizza seriously. Perhaps that’s because of New York’s Italian roots, considering 30% of Italy immigrated to New York at the turn of the 20th century. The majority of these immigrants emigrated from the south, from areas such as Naples and Sicily, carrying with them recipes, traditions, and skill to turn mere flour and water into one of the most delicious foods ever created. It is no coincidence, then, that New York has been labeled by many as the pizza capital of the world. But is it really?

Truth be told, a visitor to America’s pizza home may not feel the same way. While great pizza in this city can be found, the majority of pizzerias serve mass-produced pies lacking any sort of character or flavor. With the viral growth of chains like Sbarro, Famiglia, and “CPK,” most of the city’s great pizza has moved from an Italian artisan craft to the product of a big city assembly line. A relatively mundane mix of ingredients, in theory, pizza should be simple. But simple ingredients lend to complex preparation intricacies that, if left to the wrong hands, can result in a pizza that tastes terrible. Let alone soulless. A lack of skill, care and quality ingredients can lead to soggy crust, excessively salty cheese, oily residue, and a frown. Great pizza is no easy task.

There is one place, though, in a far-away land called Brooklyn, that is a Neapolitan oasis in a desert of dry, dense, tasteless slices. Some might consider it a little out of the way, as it’s closest metro stop is Avenue J off the Q subway line, about 45 minutes from Times Square. The pizzaiolo Domenico DeMarco has owned Di Fara for forty years. For forty years he’s been the only one with his hands on the dough and those same hands, often bare, reaching into the hot pizza ovens. The place has been shut down on numerous occasions for health code violations. Zagat gives Di Fara the lowest rating in New York, an abysmal 4, for atmosphere and ambiance. Yet despite this, lines for pizza can wrap around the corner and into the night. If looking for “toppings” like pineapple and ham, or low-fat tofu with sustainable organic oregano and French comté, Di Fara is not the place. Here, there are no gimmicks. Mr. DeMarco is not bothered by the number of hungry people waiting in line for lunch. He stops to talk to locals, takes walks into the store room leaving the front counter unattended, and takes his time cutting fresh basil and pouring olive oil on every pie as he removes it from the oven. He absolutely loves what he does, and it shows.

Di Fara’s signature pizza is the square pie, often known around NYC as the “Sicilian” or the “grandma slice”. This pizza is heavy; not only from the crust, but from the cheese and sauce layered on top. It’s also New York-sized, meaning Italian onlookers might question why it’s double the size of what they’re used to. The crust is fairly spongy like a crisp, airy focaccia of about 3/4 of an inch thick. Thanks to the deep, heavy pan in which it is baked, the underside is always on the fine border of crispy brown and burnt black, with just a hint of charred flavor adding complexity to the flavor. Holding below the crust makes the excess flour sand off in a fine powder, conveniently absorbing excess oil that may have spilled overboard. His sauce tastes slightly of pork fat and ground bits of pancetta, a blend that contributes to a meaty tomato sauce with surprisingly little hint of smokiness. Molten islands pools of fresh mozzarella bubble on the smoking red sauce when the pie emerges from the oven. A bit of basil gets snipped on top, and the challenge begins — do you have the patience to wait to dig in, or will that first delicious mouthful be consolation for a newly-scorched tongue?

Health conscious onlookers might notice in horror that his pizzas are dribbled with olive oil not one, nor two, but three times. Once before the dough is set in. This causes the dough to act as a sponge in the oven, absorbing flavor while not sticking to the pan. The second time is just before placing the pizza in the oven. And the third time is just before service. This is not forgetfulness, but a relic from many years ago when pizza was created for flavor and not for California. Between the cheese and olive oil, this pizza packs just as much flavor as calories. And my, is it worth it.

The second pie is what you and I might know as the traditional pizza margarita, but here it’s known simply by it’s shape: the “round”. Otherwise known as the pizza barometer from which other pizzas can be compared, this pie has a much thinner crust and no pork in its sauce, but is just as delicious as it’s sibling, the square. The crust remains crispy and never gets soggy. It’s a lighter pizza by Di Fara standards, meaning a slice can be picked up with one hand without risk of collapse. The quality of the cheeses used becomes immediately apparent, because there is no orange oil leaked from baking any of them, as seen with cheese of low quality. The only visible oil on this pie is that of the Colavita and Philippo Berio oil chef DeMarco uses.

For this pie, DeMarco uses three types of mozzarella of different moisture contents. The first is called “La Bonita,” and comes from Caserta, Italy, near where the chef is from. The second is Fior di Latte, a bufala mozzarella submerged in water tubs. The last is regular mozzarella from the Grand Cheese Company. This mix of three cheeses of different salt contents adds to the complexity of the slice, mixing different varieties of salt and sweet.

What continues to amaze me is the way Chef DeMarco is able to crisp the crust — even blackening certain parts — without burning. Despite his jovial conversation with the line out the door, or his long, delayed trips into the back to bring forward more cheese or flour, those pizzas are always taken out of the ovens at precisely the right time. Sometimes he even uses his bare hands! Scattered about on top of the sauce and cheese is freshly cut basil that Chef DeMarco cuts with plastic scissors seconds before serving.

But even though Di Fara offers New York’s finest slices, there is a more impressive, lesser-known option on the menu. My most memorable experience at Di Fara involves not the pizza for which it is so (rightfully) well-known, but for a crescent shaped stuffed pillow of cheesy goodness, thoughts of which make me contemplate the quickest return possible. Di Fara’s calzone is what I believe to be the best item served there. It starts with pizza dough folded in half around an overflowing heap of fresh ricotta cheese. Overflowing in the sense that no matter how tightly he seems to seal this giant Italian dumpling, fresh ricotta always seems to find its way out. After folded he compacts the edges so as to form a tentative seal, locking in the moisture and flavor of the fresh cheese. Delicious.

Now comes the magic: he takes scissors and clips small half-inch dimples in the sealed region around the crust, which result into this perfect texture when combined with the moisture from the ricotta. This saw-tooth patterns creates a texture very similar to that small sweet spot of a pizza in-between the crispy crust and moist slice, and it’s everywhere. Lightly seasoned with fresh basil and olive oil, the dominant flavor here is fresh ricotta and perfectly baked dough. It is absolutely delicious, and well worth the hour wait, as each calzone is baked to order.

While waiting in line amongst Brooklyn locals and tourists trekking an outer-borough culinary adventure, diners’ certainly get hungry and may even briefly question the merits of waiting two hours for pizza. The crowd waiting on line can at times be pushy and direct; after all, this is New York. But the scent of fresh pizza can be pretty convincing, and somehow makes waiting not so bad. Di Fara is edible proof that fine dining needs no minimum budget or Michelin stars, since the cost of a pie or Calzone is a steal for $15. This is the freshest and best tasting pizza outside of Napoli, and anyone in New York for more than a few days would be insane missing out on something truly special if they didn’t make make a lunch-time trip to Brooklyn and say hello to Domenico DeMarco.

L’Atelier de Joël Robuchon

Adam — Wed, 01 Oct 2008 15:59:15 +0000

No matter the time of day, my appetite, my clothing, or my food preference, L’Atelier always seemed like the right place to go, and I think that’s a really important quality of a favorite restaurant. Considering the amount of times we’ve eaten here, it would not be an exaggeration to say that Aaron and I have tried everything on the Fall 2006, Winter 2006, Spring 2007, and Summer 2007 menus, and even some of executive chef Yosuke Suga’s experimental dishes. Maybe this is why L’Atelier is perhaps our favorite restaurant in Manhattan.

L’Atelier’s location inside the Four Seasons Hotel might suggest a level of stuffiness, but this is quickly eliminated by Joël Robuchon’s unique sushi-bar style seating, which forces complete strangers to talk with, rather than about, each other. This setup also means that the final platings are done directly in front of diners, allowing them to have an increased appreciation of the work that goes into each course, while cleverly hiding the messier kitchen elements behind closed doors. The energy from the adjacent Four Seasons cocktail lounge also flows into the restaurant, setting a lively tone without airs, something that is very much appreciated in contrast to many other haute French restaurants where the only sound is that of cutlery hitting the plate.

Instead of chandeliers, oil paintings, and exquisite gold-leaf molding, L’Atelier’s decoration comes from the food itself, with vases of vibrant orange carrots and green cucumbers sliced daily and put on display. The restaurant uses pervading black undertones to place further emphasis on these vivid colors: the placemats, plates, and countertops all keep one’s focus solely on the food. Even the staff is dressed in black uniforms. Against this black canvas, the halogen spotlights ensure that every detail of every course is highlighted.

Each meal at L’Atelier begins with a basket of miniature baguettes and rolls. The bread is made with a high-gluten flour which creates a slightly elastic interior; the perfect texture, in fact, for returning soup bowls in spotless condition. The crumb is not dense, and the crust is light and crispy — the product of allowing a small amount of dough to naturally expand to size. Be warned, though — it’s very easy to fill up on these rolls, and while delicious, they are just the beginning.

The amuse bouche remained fairly consistent through our visits to L’Atelier, a foie gras parfait with port reduction and parmesan foam. The saltiness of the parmesan contrasted with the sweet port reduction, and both flavors complemented the warm, silky-smooth foie gras mousse. A very rich, and very welcomed, introduction.

I once read that the number of pleats in a chef’s toque represent the number of ways a good chef can cook an egg. If that’s the case, someone deserves a huge crease for L’Oeuf de Poule, a stunning dish that we tasted the first night at L’Atelier. A chicken egg was first slow-poached, then flash-fried inside a golden nest of crispy strips of brik pastry. Surrounded by crème fraîche and tiny bits of smoked salmon, then lavishly topped with a mound of Osetra caviar, this presentation was nothing short of spectacular. I am always in awe of the egg, a self-contained nutritionally perfect ingredient that serves as the foundation for an infinite number of recipes. With this dish, Robuchon pays homage to this divine ingredient, luxuriously salting it with caviar and diversifying its texture by adding crispy bits of fried batter. Aside from the absolutely beautiful presentation, the well-rounded flavor was both fundamentally satisfying and intellectually stimulating. The incredibly generous portion of caviar ensured its distribution lasted through each bite, which was delicious even after the egg was already just a happy memory. With an astonishing $98 price tag a la carte, both the cost and the flavor of this dish are over the top.

Having at least one egg dish in every meal at L’Atelier always seemed like the right thing to do. And with the familiar comfort of eggs and toast in the morning, L’Oeuf coque sans coque was a great example of why. The preparation could not have been simpler. A soft poached egg placed atop a spicy eggplant stew redolent of cumin. Surrounding bits of crispy croûtons and a thin triangle of toasted bread lent a nice crunch that contrasted the oozing egg yolk. A light buttery foam on top of the egg added yet another texture, bringing a light airiness that the dish would have otherwise lacked. I would be happy to wake up to this any day.

Another tribute to the egg is L’Oeuf cocette, a soft-boiled egg topped with a lightly foamed mushroom cream, vibrant green parsley puree, and a few sautéed chanterelles. There’s something inherently homey and satisfying about eggs, remarkably even when served in a martini glass in the Four Seasons Hotel. The first dip of one’s spoon into the glass sends the rich yellow yolk oozing throughout the rest of the ingredients. The mushroom cream added earthiness without weight and the beautiful green parsley puree added necessary brightness with both its color and its herbal flavor. A simple piece of grilled bread, perhaps, to dip into this rich concoction would have been added a nice touch.

Next one might want to move on to some soup, and if it’s warm out, there are few more refreshing options than La Tomate en gazpacho aux petits crôutons dorés et amandes fraîches, L’Atelier’s take on the Spanish classic. A small bowl of chilled tomato soup, resting on a bed of ice, and studded with fresh almonds and miniature croûtons. This soup was a bit Frenchified, perhaps, as it was a bit creamier than your typical gazpacho. Yet that textural change made the soup more interesting, I thought. There were also streaks of aged balsamic which added a little bit of tartness to a few special bites. Aaron was not quite so taken with this dish, but I found it to be a winner.

If it’s cold out, the options are even better. The late autumn menu brought La Châtaigne, a chestnut velouté with celery foam and foie gras. This is my single favorite dish from L’Atelier (and, apparently, Aaron’s). It’s also the single most delicious dish I’ve ever had in the US. Chestnut and foie gras: what a brilliant combination. The warmth of the nutty velouté with the creamy foie gras was nothing short of enlightening. The addition of celery foam added a textural element that bridged the gap between liquid and solid; and even more importantly, brought a hint of vegetal bitterness to tame the sweetness of the chestnut. The ratio of foie to velouté was immaculate, ensuring that each bite had some of each. In every regard, a truly stunning dish.

Le Potiron en velouté au lard fumé et croûtons dorées was another fabulous soup blending the warmth of autumn in the form of pumpkin, with the everlasting satisfaction of smoked bacon. A beautiful study in contrast, just thinking about this dish makes me hungry. Each element contributed its unique texture to this complex soup, keeping it from ever becoming monotonous. Every bite had a different blend of crunchy, creamy, and smooth with the croûtons, crème fraîche, and velvety pumpkin broth. The smokiness of the bacon both complemented and tamed the sweetness of the pumpkin. Some croûtons remained crunchy while those toward the bottom softened up. There was no need, even, to submerge bread in this soup. At least, not until the very end, when I sent my bowl back sparkling white.

There were times I wasn’t quite sure if soup or pasta might make a more fitting early course. In such instances, I went for Les Ravioles, which offered the best of both worlds. A captivating preparation, with tiny foie gras ravioli floating in a warm, rich chicken broth with spiced crème fraîche. Somehow, each bite managed to consist of both pasta and bouillon, making this very enjoyable to the very last spoonful. The texture of the ravioli was also very interesting, as there was a delightful popping sensation in my mouth with each bite. These satisfyingly intense bursts of flavor were not unlike eating larger fish roe, only instead of that salty brine you got the unmistakable fatty goodness of foie gras. The dollop of crème fraîche made some spoonfuls of the broth slightly richer, and its cool temperature added a very pleasing contrast to the warm soup while adding a bright top-note of flavor.

Seeing its beautiful plating going on at the bar, it was impossible not to want to try Le Caviar Osciètre, a generous spoonful of Osetra caviar atop a roll of capellini very lightly dressed with tomato sauce. Pretty to look at, no doubt, but this is a dish that ultimately left both Aaron and I unfulfilled. I think the biggest problem in this dish was the lack of textural contrast — the tender capellini (generally unworthy of being called “pasta” anyway, according to Aaron) and moist caviar proved to be a monotonous combination. And as for flavor, the capellini didn’t have much at all, with its tomato dressing too bland to be lifted even by the briny caviar.

Disappointed with that pasta dish, Aaron thought Les Spaghettis might do the trick instead. L’Atelier’s rendition of spaghetti alla carbonara was something he had read about as an off-the-menu specialty from the Paris location. The dish was served traditionally: just pancetta, egg, black pepper, parmigiano-reggiano cheese, and spaghetti. The small cubes of pancetta were rendered just until translucent without being overly crispy — exactly the right point. The rich yellow-orange color was evidence that only egg yolks we stirred in at the last moment. In the hands of lesser cooks, this sometimes leads to small coagulated bits of egg rather than a creamy sauce, but that was not the case here. Aaron found this dish to be over-priced, at $40 for the two small half-portions. But other than that, his only knock against the dish was that there only a smattering of black pepper, an essential ingredient in this Italian classic.

Instead of such rich beginnings, sometimes I just wanted to start a meal with something cool, clean, and light. Perhaps even something raw. In such instances, Le Thon Rouge is a nice choice. A simple plate of lean tuna sashimi garnished with sun-dried tomato oil and a light sprinkle of fleur de sel. It’s hard to critique this dish since its primary ingredients are so simple and so good, and I’m always impressed by the humility of a chef who can take a step back and let nature sing on its own (*cough* Kinch). This tuna was impeccably fresh, and the coarse fleur de sel added a nice crunch with each tender piece of fish. The tomato oil added richness and a complex sweetness, rounding out the cool, salty combination of tuna and fleur de sel. We saw this dish many several times during the course of our visits, most often as a complimentary treat from the kitchen. But I probably wouldn’t specifically order this dish again. Not because it wasn’t delicious (it was); but because I think there are more interesting dishes to sample, and stomach space is finite (or so people tell me). Besides, if all I’m after is fresh raw fish, there are plenty of delicious Japanese restaurants in New York.

Another cool appetizer was the surprisingly lackluster Le Homard, paper-thin turnip slices encasing chunks of lobster meat bound together with a sweet-and-sour emulsion and a bit of rosemary. These lobster “ravioli” were often presented as a trio, but the single one seen below was sent out as a “gift from the chef” one evening. Surrounded by cracked pink peppercorn, the aroma became almost floral, complementing but not contrasting the natural sweetness of the lobster meat and the turnip. In the end, though, this combination was perhaps a bit too sweet. I guess it turns out that even haute versions of lobster salad are not much more appealing to me than traditional ones.

A similar presentation with equally unsuccessful results was Le Crabe. A very light way to begin a meal, with large chunks of blue crab sandwiched between two slices of avocado, topped by crisp sticks of tart green apple and drizzled with almond oil. The combination of crab and avocado is tried and true… and boring. The strongest praise Aaron could offer for this dish was to call it “inoffensive,” and I tend to agree. Yes, the crab was tender, the avocado creamy, and the green apple crispy, but one can only stand so much of the sweet-tart combination of the three. Nothing explicitly wrong with this dish, yet it was far from riveting.

The very first dish I tried at L’Atelier was L’Oursin, sea urchin in a lobster gelée topped with cauliflower cream. Before even receiving this course, I couldn’t help but stare in awe at the plating in process — each drop of green parsley mayonnaise placed with surgical precision, perfectly matching in size and spacing, in a ring atop the bed of cauliflower cream. Unfortunately, this dish offered more style than substance as the extremely delicate flavor of the sea urchin was overwhelmed by the excessive amount of lobster gelée. Aaron was disappointed as well, pointing out that the temperature of the dish was a bit too cold, which kept some of the more subtle flavors from emerging.

Another light dish is La Langoustine en carpaccio, only this one is not fried, or even cooked for that matter. Thin slices of raw langoustine were lightly garnished with roasted poppy seeds, chives, and edible flowers. Thinly sliced langoustine “carpaccio” is one of the most interesting edible textures, feeling somewhere between solid and liquid — I am never sure if I should use a fork or spoon. Its tender texture is, however, not accompanied by a fatty mouthfeel, but is actually rather lean with a clean finish. The flavor was somewhat in-between a lobster tail and a shrimp, with an incredible softness. A scattering of poppy seeds added a textural crunch. The chives added an herbal freshness and a slight bite. I’m not too sure what the other elements did because aside from color differentiation, they weren’t very noticeable. Despite its simplicity, this was a magical dish.

Another interesting preparation with that same ingredient was La Langoustine en papillote croustillante, a single langoustine wrapped in paper-thin brik pastry with a single basil leaf visible inside. Served alongside this was a dab of vibrant green basil pesto. What first struck me as incredible with this dish was the apparent lack of oil. This langoustine was deep-fried; yet it neither felt, looked, or tasted the least bit greasy. Second, the crust was strikingly thin. The first dish that comes to my mind for comparison is shrimp tempura, where the batter often becomes distracting due to its thickness. But here, the brik adds nothing but a fine crisp layer contrasting against the tenderness of the langoustine. Perhaps the biggest evidence of the crust’s thickness is its shatter effect, where the first bite literally showers tiny fragments of the coating onto the plate, much like the first bite of a fine croissant. A friend reports that the wrapper is now rice paper instead of brik dough, so it will be interesting to see what effect this has on the texture the next time we stop in for this treat.

Neither of us were thrilled with La Coquille Saint-Jacques, a single scallop served in its shell with seaweed butter. In fact, I would say this is one of the weakest dishes we’ve ever had at L’Atelier. With such a minimalist presentation, there is no room for error. Unfortunately, every time I’ve stubbornly ordered this dish, I found the scallop to also be overcooked — hard and firm. Practically floating in (admittedly very good) Échiré butter, it almost seemed more about the butter than about the scallop (“Wait… the butter dish is already on the counter,” Aaron quipped when this was first set before us). The natural sweetness of both the butter and the scallop were unfortunately masked by the dried seaweed used to season on the scallop. This contrast, in most cases much appreciated, was overwhelming here.

I never thought to combine scallops and truffles, or really any kind of shellfish and truffle; but as it turns out this combination works really nicely, particularly because the muted flavor of scallops are highlighted by the fragrance of the truffle — rather than competing, these two ingredients actually enhance one another. But for me, it was the milky foam that really brought La Saint Jacques en mousse together, since I don’t think truffles simply grated directly on scallops would have done much more than serve as a distraction. This addition also created a scope of texture, starting from the gentle airy foam as you work your way to the slightly chewy scallop, and finishing with the crunchy accompaniments, all being accentuated with the scent of truffle. While I’m not the biggest proponent of table-side service; for truffles, the fresh shaving can really allow one to fully appreciate the aroma. But even without that extra flourish, this was fantastic.

The boundary between pet and edible dinner guest always seemed to confuse me, particularly because I would eat just about anything. Rabbit? Okay. Cute little suckling pig? Why not. (Don’t start this conversation with Aaron unless you want horse or dog brought up…) But frog?! I thought about the moral implications for a second minute, then my carnivorous stomach made up my mind for me and I ordered Les Cuisses de Grenouille. Too often, frog legs are unnecessarily greasy and messy to eat. But as haute French chefs are wont to do, the chefs at L’Atelier, well, frenched the bones. The resulting meat lollipop encourages the use of hands (though Aaron generally needs no such encouragement) without leaving the fingers greasy afterwards. The crispiness of the batter nicely complimented the slight chewiness of the meat, without it feeling excessively oily. The parsley coulis added some vivid color to the plate, but did nothing to save this dish from ultimately being quite boring. And honestly, those three Lilliputian frog legs look pretty pathetic all by themselves on the plate. There are certainly better options on the menu.

Getting into the main fish courses, part of our very first meal included Le Bar, a sea bass filet with crispy baby leeks, tomato, and a lemongrass foam. I did not much care for this dish as I found the lemongrass foam to be a bit too strong. Also, the fried baby leeks on top were a bit dry, adding too stark a textural contrast to the warm and moist fish. Third, and perhaps most importantly, the portioning of the fish was significant enough that it actually caused palate fatigue after about the third bite. I should point out, though, that Aaron disagreed with me on this one. He found the natural sweetness of both the tomato and the leek to work well with the aroma from the lemongrass, and he was not so overwhelmed by the foam as I was. Not my favorite dish, I admit, but far from a failure.

On a more recent trip to L’Atelier, I sampled L’Amadai cuit en écailles et servi sur une nage bulbe de lys, a tender filet of amadai (sea bream), served skin-side up, whose flesh gently parted with just the slightest press of the fork. The crevices within the filet, combined with its absorbent texture, drew in the lily bulb broth making the texture of the fish moist, juicy, and redolent of lily bulb. This dish’s Japanese-inspired simplicity and lightness made it a refreshing break after other richer courses. But that being said, this dish didn’t particularly move me; and while the quality of ingredients was high and the technique exemplary, he’d probably hold off on ordering this to save room for other things.

Aaron long believes that smoked salmon has no place at the dinner table. It’s one and only companion should be a New York bagel (and maybe a schmear of cream cheese). But one night, having either run out of other options on the menu, or seeking to expose the unfortunate circumstances of his birth outside the Tri-State Area, he opted to order Le Saumon Mi-Fume, the lightly smoked salmon. Laid on top of a buttery potato cake, the fish was tender and moist, if surprisingly a bit muted in flavor. The watercress brightened it up nicely, though, as did the minuscule condiments that came alongside — a sweet onion jam, black olive paste, and a single sun-dried tomato. The fried ribbons of potato were a nice idea, but ultimately ineffective in adding a crunchy textural element to the dish.

Aaron has tried on a few occasions to imprint the leaf of an herb on a piece of pasta, each time without much success. It’s certainly not easy; at least, that was the first thought that ran through his head when he was presented with La Morue – fraiche en imprime d’herbes dans une nage aux aromates, a thin sheet of parsley leaf-imprinted pasta laid across the top of generous piece of cod. All of this was placed in the center of an aromatic broth. Since the fish was skinless, the sheet of pasta acted as a chewy component both making the dish more texturally interesting, and keeping the tender fish intact. It also locked in much of the moisture and heat, as the fish kept its temperature for a while. Soup, pasta, and fish course all in one, this was a pretty enjoyable dish.

Another tasty presentation reminiscent of both ocean and land was Le Calamar, a salad of squid cooked a la plancha with violet artichokes, chorizo, and tomato water. Adding a nice top note was a generous distribution of piment d’Espelette, the spicy Basque pepper. With all the graceful knife strokes of a veteran sushi chef, the chef carefully scored the calamari with his knife prior to cooking, so that it puffed up and fanned out as it cooked. The effect on the texture was wonderful, with the firm, almost crunchy (but not tough) calamari cooked to just the right point. The slight smoky and spicy chorizo added richness, and the lightly dressed arugula salad on top of it all provided a bit of additional acid in addition to the naturally peppery flavor of the greens. While Aaron quite enjoyed this dish, I found the arugula in particular to be superfluous. Probably not something I would order again (though Aaron would).

After a while, it seemed like we’d run out of new options on the dinner menu. When that happened, we simply asked to take a look at the lunch menu! One dish that caught me eye there was La Pintade, or guinea fowl. This dish certainly seemed more on the Spanish side rather than the French side of Basque cuisine. The bird was very moist, with the breast resting underneath the confit leg. Pimientos padrones were placed on top, the sometimes-spicy-sometimes-mild peppers that are damn good when just fried in olive oil and sprinkled with coarse sea salt. On the very top were crisp slivers of jamon serrano, and there were also bits of roasted tomato throughout. And definitely plenty of piment d’espelette — a favorite seasoning of L’Atelier. The overall combination of ingredients was quite tasty. My only complaint was that there wasn’t enough sauce to go around for the cous cous, leaving much of it dry. Other than that, this was a nice dish.

A solid choice that never seemed to leave the menu was La Caille, caramelized quail stuffed with foie gras mousse, served with potato purée covered with shaved black truffle, and a small green salad dressed with a simple vinaigrette. Though this is a dish whose richness may first strike the diner as one-dimensional, it is actually quite indicative of Joël Robuchon’s attention to balance on the plate. It has the complex sweet and salty, with the caramelized quail meat playing against the rich foie gras stuffed inside it. The hot and the cool, with the quail and the buttery puréed potatoes brightened up the tart green salad. Likewise, both texture and aroma are given equal attention, with the buttery smooth puréed potatoes elevated by the unmistakable earthy aroma of truffles. No single element threatens to dominate over another, and the resulting harmony is the stuff dreams are made of.

Le Ris de Veau was a nothing more than a simple preparation of sweetbreads, but a good one. The fresh laurel leaf didn’t really accomplish much; but, the sweetbreads were cooked very well: crisp on the outside and buttery smooth on the inside. It’s easy to tell when one has started with a good product and it has been cooked correctly, when there’s none of the fatty or oily mouthfeel that poorly prepared sweetbread dishes often have. This is still very rich and meaty, but maintains a clean finish. But the dish was certainly not perfect. I mean… stuffed lettuce leaf? C’mon now. As much as chefs try to turn lettuce leaves into something special, it is rarely successful. That said, with the main ingredient being cooked impeccably well, it is hard to find much fault with this dish.

After viewing the very cool Annotated Dish write up in New York Magazine, and running out of new things to try, I decided to give Le Foie Gras fumée, the layered combination of smoked foie gras and eel terrine, a try. Once was enough. The dish reads very well and sounds like a combination that would work; but it didn’t. In fact, this was one of the biggest disappointments Aaron has had at L’Atelier. The glazed eel is so sweet that it completely overwhelms the foie gras. The creamy texture of the foie gras is prevented from coming through by the drastically different, almost stringy texture of the eel. The white on the plate is actually whipped cream — what was that doing there? There was also a bit of sansyo pepper to perk things up a bit, and some chives mainly for color variation; but the real problem was the conflict between the eel and smoked foie. Aaron points out, though, that people whose palates we trust (our friend Ulterior Epicure, for example) disagree with him regarding this dish, so perhaps it is worth revisiting.

One time that Aaron stopped by without me, he enjoyed a few items I have still yet to see on the menu myself. Figures… the one time I couldn’t go. The first dish was Le Foie Gras de canard une symphonie soyeuse sous une fine gelée à la feuille d’or, a thin layer of veal stock gelée on top of a very creamy foie gras mousse. This combination was covered with shaved white truffle and edible gold leaf. The truffles gave a rich and interesting aroma to this dish that otherwise would have had essentially none. The gold leaf was, obviously, superfluous, but that minor quibble this dish as a whole was wonderful.

It is always a nice to see something as rich and creamy as foie gras prepared in a way that highlights, without distracting, the ingredient’s natural flavors. When I first saw Le Foie Gras chaud de canard au gratin de pamplemousse, I hesitated at the thought of mixing grapefruit, or any other kind of citrus for that matter, with something so delicate as foie gras. But since we had already had everything else on the menu out of curiosity, I went for it. I was pleasantly shocked. Somehow, the bitter acidity was muted — but not completely — in a way that actually cut through the fatty mouthfeel leaving behind a crisp, lean, but still creamy flavor. The sauce was left thin which allowed for maximum absorption in the liver, despite making the plating a bit runny — a sign that flavor, in this dish, was not to be sacrificed at the expense of presentation. The saltiness of the foie gras engagingly complemented the fruitiness of the grapefruit, a beautiful twist of different flavors that mixed together in harmony.

Among the meat options, Le Chevreuil, a filet of venison with caramelized quince, was perhaps the heartiest. What a nice combination. Aaron always says how annoying it is that venison is always paired with the same old black/blue/huckleberry sauce. Frankly, it’s trite. Pairing it instead with caramelized quince was refreshingly original, and added just the right level of sweetness. The venison was cooked rare as venison should be. Aaron is a sucker for a well-executed aigre-doux (fancy French words for sweet-and-sour) preparation (don’t get me started on the Italian cipollini in agrodolce), and so I thought the mignonette worked very nicely in this case. Overall, quite a solid dish.

It’s pretty rare to hear someone mention a foie gras and beef burger without bringing up Daniel’s db burger. See, I just did it, too. But L’Atelier has a foie gras and beef burger on their menu as well, and it is pretty unique. Le Burger is arguably more about the foie gras than the beef. It’s incredibly juicy, making one wonder whether it’s the foie gras or the ground chuck that is more responsible for the stream of juices that will inevitably run down your hand. Aaron and I both dislike bell peppers very much, and frankly their addition in this dish seemed out of place. But the small brioche buns are very nice, soft and slightly sweet. The dish also comes with a small cup of crinkle cut french fries and house-made ketchup with a very sweet and distinct flavor which comes from the addition of ginseng. Aaron and I didn’t particularly like the sweet ketchup; but our friend did proclaim it the best thing since kosher Coke.

Sometimes, though, the bun, the peppers, and the other condiments just get in the way. Sometimes I just want Le Boeuf. Basically about eight ounces of pure raw meat, L’Atelier’s exquisite beef tartare is the best I’ve ever had (… in the US, I should add, lest we forget the buttuta al coltello I had in Italy). In an effort to minimize palate fatigue, we’ve found L’Atelier to be generally consistent with the portioning; but this dish is nearly two to three times the size of any other dish on the menu. It is definitely intense, and definitely not for vegetarians. The dish comes with just the right amount of condiments — mustard, cornichons, red onion, and parsley — which highlight the natural flavor of the beef without distracting. The texture of the meat was very nice, too, neither too coarse nor too finely ground. Yes, there were crinkle-cut french fries, and yes, they were tasty; but really. who cares about stupid french fries when the meat is that good? It should probably be noted that this dish’s $39 price is a little steep for what it is; but certainly justifiable given the generous portion.

For those who actually like their meet cooked, one surprisingly fantastic option was L’Onglet, the humble cut of hanger steak presented with shallot confit, grilled piquillo peppers and roasted fingerling potatoes. The meat was juicy and tender, and when topped with the sweet caramelized shallots and surrounded by an intensely meaty jus, the more complex salty-sweet flavor was quite enjoyable. The roasted potatoes and grilled peppers added a Basque flair to the dish, and topped with a few coarse grains of fleur de sel, they were quite flavorful. A fully satisfying main course, and a nice change of pace from the smaller tapas-style portions that permeate the majority of the menu.

While perhaps leaner than a slab of foie gras, kobe beef is nonetheless renowned for its intensely marbelized texture. We’ve sampled two variations of this Japanese-style beef at L’Atelier, one served with grilled piquillo peppers and the other with wild lettuce. I found the latter less appealing, as the raw lettuce served more as a useless garnish than something to complement the steak. The contrast between raw and cooked was just too stark for the lettuce to work with this dish. That being said, he was asked how I wanted the meat cooked, without any haughty mentions of how “chef recommends” that he get it — a small sign that the restaurant was thankfully willing to cater to the preferences of its clients. His request for rare was fulfilled, the marbelization shining through with each slice. (Truth be told, for something this fatty, Aaron and I swear by medium-rare, allowing a bit of the intramuscular fat to be rendered.) Unless shared among two people, this course became a bit tiresome, since it was, after all, simply a steak. While the quality of meat was indeed high, this seemed more applicable for a steak house and a little out of context with the creativity of some of the restaurant’s other dishes.

It would seem based on what we’ve shown so far that vegetables may be lacking in a meal at L’Atelier. Quite the contrary — there are a few vegetable dishes that might act either as an early course or perhaps a side dish with the more substantial main courses. One such dish that seemed like a refreshing start to a meal was L’Avocat en velouté sur un fondant acidulé de légumes, a vegetarian dish not unlike gazpacho. As you can see in the photo, its presentation that is perhaps more interesting from the side. The dominant flavor in the thick, slightly gelatinous translucent base is undoubtedly tomato, though other vegetables round it out. The avocado crème layer lends some depth to the initial acidity of the vegetable base, a result that works. Texturally, we found this dish rather dull and would have liked to see perhaps some crisp vegetables to add for greater contrast. It was certainly pretty, though.

A lovely vegetable dish was called, fittingly, Les Legumes, small sautéed mushrooms atop a crumbly tart crust with feta cheese, drizzled with maple syrup, and covered with crisp slivers of zucchini and yellow summer squash. Though I didn’t have a chance to try this particular dish, Aaron recalls it being a lovely combination of sweet, salty, and savory. The feta and maple, in particular, was a brilliant combination of salty and sweet, and along with the mushrooms, added lovely depth and complexity to the bright taste of the barely-cooked zucchini and squash.

All this talk about how wonderful L’Atelier is, and we haven’t even mentioned Robuchon’s famous mashed potatoes yet. Fortunately, many of the more substantial main courses often come with these as a small side dish, so you’re bound to encounter them sooner or later. One small bite of these intensely buttery, unbelievably smooth potatoes, and there will be little need for anything else. In my experience, these addictive spuds have even been known to cause cases of culinary beer goggles, rendering the rest of the meal irrelevant, so enjoy at your own risk. But a meal at L’Atelier is simply not complete without a little cast-iron ramekin of these potatoes.

Dessert at L’Atelier usually began with a palate cleanser titled Le Yuzu Vert, a small shot glass of green yuzu granité with a lemon verbena gelée and a thin layer of cachaça, which is the national drink of Brazil. The tartness of the cachaça was moderated by the slightly herbal gelée, making the mouth-feel very fresh rather than bitter and tongue-cringing. This dish was served ice cold which further amplified its refreshing power. A larger portion of this would be overkill; but as a segue into the sweeter end of the meal, this dish does a fine job.

On later visits, this was replaced by coconut ravioli with lemon-mascarpone mousse. A delightfully successful result of spherification, the coconut “ravioli” bridged the gap between liquid and solid. An ultra-thin film gave way to the creamy center, making for a burst of coconut flavor on the tongue. This delicious “ravioli” stayed afloat in a pleasantly tart lemon gelée, and beneath that was a luxurious mousse of lemon and mascarpone. Truly a stunning transition to dessert, it both cleansed and reinvigorated the palate for the treats still to come.

Less successful, though, was the most recent pre-dessert Aaron sampled: almond panna cotta with strawberry-tomato confit, and strawberry foam. What sounded like a tasty combination on paper was surprisingly bland and ultimately lackluster. The texture was not the problem; there was a nice progression from custard-like to light and airy. It was the overly muted flavors. Neither almond, strawberry, or tomato were really able to stand up and get noticed. Definitely not one of his favorites.

Now how can we even begin to talk about Le Sucre? It’s hard to pinpoint exactly what makes this sugar sphere filled with raspberry mousse so special, since there’s so much to it. Is it the perfectly spherical shape? The beautiful color? The spectrum of textures and temperatures? The sweet flavor of the airy mousse tamed by the gelée? The gentle cracking sensation from the first bite? Actually, it’s all of the above. This is certainly an exceptional dessert. The paper-thin sugar piece is blown into a perfect sphere in a process very similar to glass blowing. The thin sphere is then filled with a duo of ethereal fraises des bois and mascarpone mousse, set off-centered on a clear glass bowl, and garnished with a tart raspberry and blackberry coulis, pistachio dust, Kirsch gelée and vanilla ice cream. The precision of this sphere is almost alarming — a perfectly round sphere, this is no oblate spheroid or any nonsense like that. The balance of the flavor is also impressive, with the sweetness of the mousse filling contrasting very nicely with the slightly salty pistachio dust.

Texturally, this dish is, in all honesty, brilliant. With the first shatter of the shell, tiny crispy pieces of sugar are let loose into the mousse, creating a lovely textural equilibrium — each bite is just as interesting as the previous. A later incarnation of the same dish included saffron mousse and pomegranite curd — an equally stunning combination. And aside from the flavor and texture, this dish is absolutely gorgeous. Just look at it! We do hope to see its production with our own eyes one day, but until then this beautiful creation will remain somewhat of a mystery. It should be noted that Le Sucre has since been taken off the L’Atelier dessert menu, perhaps somewhat due to seasonality; but we do hope that it comes back shortly. It’s a masterpiece. [Update 5/17/08 -- my friend the Ulterior Epicure found out the dessert has since emigrated to the Tokyo branch along with the pastry chef responsible for its creation]

While Le Sucre the most interesting dessert we’ve ever had, there are still some others that need to be mentioned. Le Baba, for instance, includes a large piece of yeast cake soaked in rum, set atop diced pineapple infused with fresh thyme, and topped with caramel ice cream and a luscious sabayon. The strong hit of the booze and the herbal note of the fresh thyme kept this dish from being overly sweet. The baba, as always, acted as a delicious sponge as it soaked up the flavors of the other components. Certainly a very tasty combination and a nice change of pace for those who may are looking for a good non-chocolate option.

Also quite nice was La Poire, an almond soufflé served outside the ramekin with poached pear and bitter almond ice cream. Granted, the fact that the soufflé was served outside of a ceramic dish should have no effect on flavor; but it certainly had an effect on temperature as this cooled down very quickly, especially with the adjacent ice cream. Additionally, one of my favorite parts of a soufflé in general is the crispy layer on the sides and bottoms where the batter sticks to the ceramic. This did not have that. That being said, this had a memorable almond flavor, and pairing it with poached pears, slightly bitter almond ice cream, and toasted almonds was a very tasty combination.

Not quite so nice was a dessert simply entitled Le Soufflé, a caramel soufflé that came resting in a shallow pool of chocolate soup and bitter orange ice cream. We each took the first bite — confusion. Then a second bite — disappointment. There was no third bite. This was absolutely horrible. The ice cream was utterly tasteless. The caramel had been burnt, lending an exaggerated bitterness to the soufflé that was not to be tamed by the other accompaniments. The chocolate soup was like an insipid, clumpy, unstirred serving of Swiss Miss. Just a terrible dessert all-around. This remains the one and only thing we’ve ever sent back at L’Atelier.

Fortunately, other choices offered fabulous consolation. They say the first step to recovery is to admit the problem, and I will be the first to tell you: I have a chestnut addiction. So when I saw Le Marron on the menu, I knew it would one day be mine. This dish consists of chestnuts with liquid chocolate-filled croquettes, dates, and a chestnut soup. The chocolate croquettes were incredible — self-contained bursts of cocoa flavor that literally exploded in your mouth. The warm chestnut soup was delicious on its own, with a rich chocolate sauce lining the outside edge of it, allowing a bittersweet harmony in each spoonful. When I had this, the condensed milk ice cream was literally flavorless; but Aaron ensures him that this was a fluke, as every time he’s had it (and there were many), the sweetness of the ice cream brightened up and carried the rich flavors of the chestnut and chocolate wonderfully. The chopped dates were also a great addition. Aside from Le Sucre, this was by far Aaron’s favorite dessert, and one of his favorite dishes at L’Atelier, period.

Not usually something either of us would order, a surprisingly good choice was Le Chocolat Noir, a molten chocolate cake topped with a chocolate tuile, vanilla ice cream, and served with coffee mousse and whipped cream. My first though: why the coffee?! Nobody likes the coffee jelly beans; why would anyone like the coffee mousse? I need not have worried, though, as the flavor of the mousse was very gentle and by no means offensive. My favorite part of this dish was definitely the semi-liquid chocolate in the center of the chocolate cake. The center didn’t quite ooze out; but, it hung out just around the cooked/undercooked line. It wasn’t too sweet, either, which was really appreciated.

On my latest visit, I sampled Le Sensation Chocolat crèmeaux au chocolat guanaja, sorbet de cacao au biscuit oreo, ground oreo shell encrusting a thick chocolate mousse and covered with a ring of guanaja chocolate. With each bite, the crunchy bits of oreo weaved their way into the creamy mousse, making each spoonful interesting. The dish was actually served at room temperature, so when I cracked the ring chocolate, it actually melted rather than got in the way. This might be the darkest colored dessert I’ve ever had; nearly perfectly black. Yet as I ate it, he couldn’t help but think of Jell-o chocolate pudding. Not such a bad thing, I suppose, but considering the apparent complexity of this dish, I doubt that’s the first association the pastry chef would like to come to mind.

A cool and refreshing alternative to the chocolate options was Le Pamplemousse, chilled grapefruit segments with an olive-scented gelée and and mint sorbet. Definitely on the lighter side of desserts, just in the vicinity of ordering sorbet or fresh fruit, to which my response is always “Get a real dessert!” This dish lets the bitter flavor of the grapefruit come through a bit too strongly, which I never particularly enjoy, so I probably would not get this a second time. That being said, the mint increased the cool-winter-breeze effect of this dish. Afterwards, I felt like my mouth took an ice cold shower. The olive-scented gelée was barely detectable, overwhelmed by the grapefruit’s acidity.

On another visit Aaron sampled Le Riz, a milky rice pudding served with caramelized apple and rosemary ice cream. This had very good potential. Unfortunately the portion was microscopic, with two tasteless strips of puff pastry making up the majority of the dish’s volume. The sweet and herbal combination of caramelized apple and rosemary was a delicious one, and the rice pudding itself (an entire teaspoon’s worth, no less) was very tasty. Ultimately, though, the portioning left this dish a little out of balance in his opinion.

Being a slight hypocrite (see two paragraphs up), one night I just felt like having ice cream and sorbet. Les Glaces et Sorbets du Jour offered just that. There were perfect quenelles of mint and vanilla ice cream, as well as mango and grapefruit sorbet, resting on a bed of fresh blueberries and a few coarse chunks of vanilla bean gelée. The best of the bunch was probably the creamy mint flavor, with a refreshing herbal aftertaste. A thin tuile stuck in the top provided a nice textural contrast, and while essentially flavorless, a light foam atop the ice cream did make for a pretty presentation.

Another simple dessert that was nonetheless quite satisfying was Les Tartes Tradition, a selection of miniature tarts. The five flavors included: lemon; dark chocolate; apple; milk chocolate & salted peanut; and cinnamon. Aaron found the best of the bunch to be the milk chocolate & salted peanut tart. The texture of the chocolate portion was not unlike that of a Tootsie Roll, and this rested on layer of crunchy and salty peanut brittle. Great contrast of both flavor and texture. The other tarts were very enjoyable as well, offering a whole spectrum of tastes: sweet caramelized apple, pleasantly tart citrus, rich bittersweet chocolate, and spicy cinnamon. With the tarts sized the way they are, this might also make a nice round of petit fours if shared among two people. (Or so I would think. Aaron never really wanted to share…)

Occasionally the gods would smile upon us in the form of a plate of cannelés at the end of a meal. These wonderful little treats from Bordeaux are as tasty as they are beautiful. Essentially small cork-sized, rum-soaked pieces of brioche, they get a wonderfully caramelized exterior from the copper pans in which they are traditionally cooked. A crisp, slightly chewy outside gives way to the boozy sponge-like inside. L’Atelier’s version is certainly commendable, if not quite in the same league as Petrossian Bakery on 7th Ave. near 58th Street.

Lastly, absolutely no L’Atelier experience is complete without a small plate of macarons. I’m pretty sure there has never been a time when I haven’t asked for five or six more rounds a few extra of these wonderful French delicacies. Flavors we’ve encountered have included raspberry-mascarpone, chocolate, and lemon, each of which I consider to be the freshest and best tasting macarons available in Manhattan. Period. Aaron agrees — there is no better place to enjoy our favorite French pastry. There are three important characteristics that I always consider, all of which L’Atelier gets right nearly every time. First is clearly the flavor. When dealing with certain varieties like citrus or chocolate, it’s really easy for macarons to become cloying. There is a fine line between sweet and too sweet; and in my experience, especially with lemon and raspberry, I find them almost always too sweet. Not at L’Atelier. Second is the texture — one of the most divine sensations is the first bite into a macaron where your teeth gently sink through meringue without any pressure. When a macaron has been sitting around for a while, the point where the crème touches the meringue become a bit soggy and get chewy — I believe there should be no chewiness in a good macaron. Again, never a problem here — always fresh at L’Atelier. Third, is the meringue to crème ratio — too much of either one kills the gentle macaron, and often violates the first and/or second rules as well. I think that the ideal height of the ganache layer is around a fourth of the total height of the cookie. L’Atelier always get this right, too! Every time, these treats are such a satisfying way to cap off a meal. This makes L’Atelier a nice post-dinner destination for a second or third dessert, coffee, and a few tasty cookies.

One of the many elements that makes this restaurant so strong is the portioning. Most tapas-sized portions are just enough to share; but, not nearly enough to cause palate fatigue. It’s also the perfect size for ordering several dishes or, at times, just one or two and a light drink. While the dishes clearly reflect the organized passion of chefs Robuchon and Suga, the experience is customizable such that it literally molded to our cravings every single time.

A first-time visitor to New York might be overwhelmed by the weight of his Michelin guide. Actually, this culinary capitol is no less intimidating for its food-passionate residents. But we can say fairly strongly that if we had the chance to visit only one restaurant in this special city, it would be L’Atelier. This “workshop” has consistently provided, plate after plate, dishes that have reminded us why we love food so much. We can only hope that you have the opportunity to indulge here in the near future … just don’t forget your appetite.

Tailor

Adam — Thu, 18 Oct 2007 05:04:36 +0000

I was very excited to hear that the much anticipated Tailor would be open during my week in New York. I even made a reserve several weeks to the date, just to play it safe. I never had the chance to sample Sam Mason’s dessert creations at WD-50 while he worked there; but from what I had read and from experiences I’d heard, they were very tasty. At Tailor on the other hand, I found my experience relatively lackluster with some courses leaving me, quite frankly, confused.

Tailor had no sign, label, or anything else to indicate that this was the new home of Chef Mason. In fact, the windows were frosted which made it a bit more difficult to confirm if this was indeed a restaurant. I found the approximate location of about where 425 Broome should be and in a brave leap of blind faith, I opened it. One point for me; it was indeed Tailor. The other person in my party had already arrived, and the friendly maître d’ told me that if we were ready to be seated, I could go downstairs to get her. The restaurant was two floors with the downstairs being for drinks (it was where the bar was) and the upstairs for dinner. The atmosphere was light and casual, which made things comfortable. We proceeded upstairs and were seated.

The menu was very simple, clearly laid out, and contained a digestible number of dishes — an absolute breath of fresh air as restaurant menus should not be novels. The menu was separated into two sections: sweet and salty. Three sweet courses could be chosen for $30, and any three courses (sweet or salty) could be selected for $50. On the back was an eight course “Cocoa Tasting Menu,” where each of the eight courses featured chocolate in some way. The tasting menu seemed curious; but so did many of the courses on the a la carte side. What to do … what to do … both menus, of course! I opted for the tasting menu, and three of the courses from the a la carte side. While the waitress did think I was crazy, as did the surrounding tables of hipsters casually listening to my order but pretending not to, this seemed like the best of both worlds.

I started with the first course on the cocoa tasting menu, squid salad, cocoa croutons, and mint. An interesting combination, indeed. The squid was slightly fishy, and it was this fishy taste that conflicted very strongly with the chocolate. The dissonance was startling.

Next up, chocolate gnocchi, brussel sprouts, and lime purée. The presentation of this dish was varied in terms of color: a mix of brown and green with yellow streaks. The chocolate gnocchi by itself, though slightly soggy in texture, was pretty good. I appreciated Chef Mason’s integration of sweets into traditionally savory courses. It was the lime purée, however, that completely assaulted this dish. Way too sour. And aside from color differentiation, what were the brussels sprouts doing here? They seemed random to me.

The highlight of the meal came with the third course, foie gras terrine with peanut butter, cocoa, and pear. This was absolutely wonderful: balanced both in terms of texture and flavor. I believe this dish’s success can be attributed to the fact that chocolate was not detectable — only the nutty peanut butter which paired beautiful with the foie. What a creative, and well-executed idea. Perhaps things were looking up.

Unfortunately, things dropped back down again with the fourth course, chocolate-miso cod with cauliflower puree and argon. The cod, for all intents and purposes, lacked flavor. But aside from that, cauliflower and chocolate? I understand creativity; but not at the expense of flavor. These two items clashed intensely.

Next up was a course which sounded to have much potential: duck and eel terrine, chocolate consommé, and sweet mango. Another disappointment. While the lukewarm duck terrine was served with a perfectly sized portion of eel sitting on top, what really set this dish off was the chocolate consommé. There is absolutely nothing attractive about adding chocolate to beef stock, period. Each bite of the duck terrine, no matter how carefully I tried, seemed to mix with the consommé. It was awful. The greens, other than for color differentiation, had no place in this dish. The mango was so inundated with the chocolate broth that its sweet tropical flavor turned dull, rendering it ineffective.

The sixth course, beet ravioli, cocoa caviar, orange, and tarragon was actually pretty decent. The presentation was very nice, particularly the contrast between the black cocoa caviar and the deep red thinly sliced beet. I would have liked a larger portion of this, as it was bite-sized.

From glancing at the menu, I was pretty sure my next course would be my favorite: butternut squash cake, cocoa sorbet, walnut beads, and maple. While I found no dissonant flavors in this dish, the butternut squash cake was firm and dry, as if it had been sitting around a little too long. The best part of this dish was the combination of the walnut beads and maple — the sweetness of the maple with the saltiness of the walnut went together very nicely. It’s unfortunate that the texture of the cake was so off — this dish had potential.

Next up was the last course on the cocoa tasting: soft chocolate, sesame ice cream, mole. The sesame ice cream was delicious. It was sweet enough to refresh the palate, yet nutty enough to not be cloying. The soft chocolate rectangle had a very mild flavor which was quickly overtaken by the mole, which was too strong and distracting. The presentation of this dish was again very well composed, with a thin chocolate crisp lying diagonally across the white sesame ice cream.

By this point the tasting had officially finished. And like any other normal person with an average appetite, my second tasting was about to begin. Tailor chose to complete the cocoa tasting in its entirety before severing the additional meals so as not to interfere with the pre-set progression. I didn’t object since my three additions were from the sweets — nothing wrong with a little extra dessert. The first dish was a warm peach with tomato foam, ricotta purée, and black sesame caramel. The tomato foam destroyed this dish. It sounded great on paper as I imagined the sweetness of the tomato similar to a cherry. Unfortunately, this actually tasted like tomato, a little too strongly — it was not sweet, at all. Nor was it appealing.

The next course was the most beautiful of the night, a rum braised banana with mustard ice cream and brown butter cake. I’ve had mustard ice cream before that I’d enjoyed very much — mainly because the flavor harvested the spice from the mustard seed without the actual vinegar taste. This tasted like vinegar. No good. This dish too had so much potential — rum braised banana with brown butter cake is a fantastic combination — why ruin it? And why was there a savory vegetable leaf floating on this dish?

The last plate of this eleven course tasting was definitely one of the better courses, blueberries with black olive cake and yogurt sorbet. This combination sounded a little strange at first; but, it did indeed work. The sweetness of the olive went beautifully with the slightly salty cake. However, for some reason, this was topped with a lime foam that pummeled everything on the plate — way too concentrated and tart. And again, why was there a green leaf on my dessert plate?

The end of the meal was marked with a satisfied stomach and two sugar-coated beet pâte de fruits, also disappointing. The taste of beets was too strong — I couldn’t tell if this was a petit four or an amuse, my stomach was confused.

The presentations of these dishes were very well-plated. Each dish had a pleasing diversity of color and texture. However, this was done so at the expense of taste. Green leaves with desserts? Cauliflower purée with chocolate? Mustard ice cream that actually tastes like dijon mustard? To be honest, at some points during the meal I was reminded of how shaving cream is frequently used instead of whipped cream in commercials as it looks fluffier and has a whiter color. While these dishes were presented nicely, the question of what is actually on the plate needs to be very closely examined.

After having tried the majority of courses Tailor offered, I craved something savory. The tasting menu was unbalanced in the sense that eight of its nine courses were sweet. I understand that Chef Mason’s expertise lies in sweets; but Tailor is not a dessert bar and this type of menu needs to be more well-rounded. Even the courses under the salty section, from which I did not get to order, are rife with sweets.

I felt like Tailor was trying a little too hard to differentiate itself by mixing together unlikely combinations of ingredients. This was not successful. The restaurant just opened a few weeks ago and is likely still undergoing a trial period with the menu. But frankly, this menu needs dramatic change before I will be heading back.

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