Spanish 101

Walking into Tertulia in the west village, I see an old, familiar face: Frank Bruni. The former Times critic who had once haunted me in New York restaurants sits one table away from me in Seamus Mullen's newest haunt, across from the unsurprisingly rotund Michael White. Let the party begin.

Tertulia is billed as a play on an old Spanish cider bar, but diners will be just as happy drinking cold and clean manzanilla sherry, or room temperature, nutty oloroso as they will be drinking funky, geuze-style cider. The food is equally appealing. A selection of cured meats did not include the old standby Jamon Serrano (you have to order that separately), but it did include a funky an unctuous selection of cuts from different parts of the pig, some lean and some fatty. Pan con tomate was just as toothsome and satisfying as it is in Barcelona. Croquetas seep with a warm bechamel of ham and quince paste.

The restaurant has only been open for lunch a few days and counts among its lunch time specials sandwiches of all competing kinds. We ate a mushroom and goat cheese version, with pine nuts and spicy pickles and a side of house made potato chips. Rice cooked on the plancha is the perfect combination of creamy risotto and crunchy socarrat, filled with tender snails, ribbons of oyster mushroom, and shards of Spanish ham.

Because the plates are small, you might feel inclined to keep eating; we did. As our closing number, we chose a plate of fried piquillo peppers--some mild and some debilitatingly hot--as well as two open faced toasts topped with a creamy crab salad. The crab is the perfect antidote to the intermittent spice of those salty little peppers. Verdict: get there if you can.

*

Tertulia

359 6th Avenue

New York, NY 10014

646.559.9909

Modern Chinese

I can forgive the unacceptable wait at Redfarm last night, only because the dumplings were so damned good. The drinks, even for a Chinese restaurant, were a little too sweet--watermelon rum punch that tasted more like a Jolly Rancher; a shiso cucumber martini with too much simple syrup--and by the time our food came we were famished. But still, small plates were an inescapable success. Shrimp and pea shoot dumplings in a thin, steamed skin tasted more of fresh peas than anything else. I mean that as a compliment.

Soup dumplings rivaled those of Joe's Shanghai, whopping, steaming, and filled with pork and broth. Shumai shooters, over a hot orange soup, tasted mushroomy and rich. Smoked cucumbers with sesame seeds almost tasted of meat, they were so rich. A Katz's pastrami egg roll, served with spicy deli mustard, was a Jewish fantasy--Chinese and butcher shop wrapped up into one, hotdoggy treat. A special of pork wrapped around rice, negimaki style, came with stewed and sweet tomatoes and concord grapes. Crispy beef with lotus root and sliced onions was salty and sweet and impossibly crisp, like the best version of General Tso's you've ever had. The only small plate failure came in the form of crisp crab and pork dumplings. They looked good enough, small battered pucks with mayonnaise eyes added on by a playful kitchen. But they maintained their shape from an internally intact crab shell and the pieces of pork were large chunks of fatty belly. We could have passed on the whole thing, even the curry broth dipping sauce.

As for entrees, by the time they came we were ready to throw in the towel. A selection of sauteed mushrooms with baby bok choy was light, delicate, and lovely. A richer platter of lamb and asparagus won my vote for best in show. Fried rice included corn and bean sprouts and snow peas and goji berries, but I had no room left once it arrived. Desserts were throwaways--a lackluster jelly roll with "creme fraiche" whipped cream that tasted only of regular cream; a poached pear over out-of-season fruits. Save room for extra dumplings, instead.

*

Redfarm

529 Hudson Street

New York, NY 10014

212.792.9700

per se

It is everything you expect, and more.

Canapes of salmon coronets, onion-infused cream cheese, and gougeres filled with Sauce Mornay.

A hollowed egg with custard and black truffles.

Keller's famous oysters and pearls: tapioca, Island Creek oysters, white sturgeon caviar.

Bread service: two types of butter, five types of salt, pretzel bread, miniature San Francisco sour dough loaves.

Garnet yams wrapped in something crispy and served with compressed apples.

Torchon of foie gras, quince poached in wine, micro mache, a never-ending arrival of warm brioche.

Long Island striped bass wrapped in swiss chard, a perfect pommes puree.

A slightly overcooked (my one gripe) kanburi with tiny carrots, cucumbers, and a pickle emulsion.

Butter poached lobster with equally buttery pumpkin porridge, butternut squash, tart cranberries.

Four Story Hill Farm rabbit, salsify, soft farmer's cheese.

Elysian Farms' lamb--one piece, bone-in--with bitter and sweet endive, navel oranges, and lamb jus.

A cheese course served with tomato marmalade, cornichon, roasted eggplant.

Huckleberry sorbet with Swiss meringue and red wine granite.

S'mores deconstructed and served with peanut butter mousse, pucks of marshmallow, and caramel ice cream.

Bitter orange and chocolate composition with quenelles of ice cream, chocolate mousse truffles, and bergamot as far as the eye can see.

A purple cow of vanilla genoise, concord grape soda, and grape sherbet.

Beignets with coffee semi-fredo.

Chocolates--Arnold Palmer, curry, balsamic vinegar, chocolate mousse, tamarind-pineapple, and so many others that I have since forgotten them.

A tiered box of fudge, caramels, and truffles.

Buttered popcorn ice cream bonbons.

Mocha brownies to bring home.

It was near perfect. Get there if you can.

*

per se

10 Columbus Circle

New York, NY 10019

212.823.9335

The King of Fish

If I had any sincere doubt about whether or not Le Bernadin deserved four stars--or about whether or not Eric Ripert remained the confirmed king of the sea--I doubt no longer. Last night's four course dinner (ten people, two grand, thank you very much) blew all us little fishies out of the water. It is an occasion restaurant, as marked by the fact that we ran into not one but two other tables of culinary school grads. And it is a restaurant for the wealthy, as marked by the fact that a very famous comedian couple sat in a corner banquette, sharing wine and looking deliciously unkempt.

Thanks to the tip off from a friend, the restaurant began our meal with a gratis magnum of champagne. The dining room is larger than a lot of four stars (per se has sixteen tables and Jean-Georges is the kind of precious, carpeted room that makes people afraid to speak loudly), though smaller than Del Posto. It is carpeted, as is tradition in these kinds of places. It is filled with warm and sophisticated touches--a flowing wall pattern resembling the ocean; a seascape mural at the restaurant's rear; white orchids on the tables and in large standing vases. It is a hospitable, warm room, if not one that is terribly memorable.

And then: the food. An amuse bouche arrives of poached golden and red beets, wrapped in tiny burritos filled with goat cheese and a puck of tuna tartare and a bowl of lobster knuckle in some kind of emulsion. It points to the luxury of the meal and made even this beet hater a convert.

A raw course of black bass, sliced green grapes, celery, and olive oil packed crunch and punch. It was sweet and savory, silken and crunchy. A foie gras and tuna carpaccio arranged in the shape of a fish was equal parts decadence and allure. Striped bass with crispy artichokes reminded me that raw fish can be powerful in its excellence.

My langoustines arrived next, bathed in a salty, sweet beurre blanc and garnished with various mushrooms and cubes of foie gras. I preferred it to an admittedly well-executed crab cake with potato chips. My entree stole the show--crispy black bass with a mushroom reduction as rich as duck stock, served with a plate of spicy pickled cucumbers. A poached halibut in beet broth rivaled my fish, as did a soft and steaming striped bass with Thai inflections. The meat dishes ordered by two in our party did not measure up to the rest of our meal. One would do best to stick with the sea at Le Bernadin.

Then: dessert. Pre-dessert was a pot de creme of chocolate, layered with caramel and custard and salted cream in a hollowed egg with a demitasse. Panna cotta with figs was a textural dream. A comped mango cheesecake was the best of its ilk and a composed plate billed as apple cinnamon brought me back to an autumn fair ground. Petit fours of chocolate and pate de fruits and a tiny pate a choux filled with cream reminded me that in four star restaurant every touch matters.

*

Le Bernadin

155 West 51st Street

New York, NY 10019

212.554.1515

Boulud Is Back

Walking into Boulud Sud on the Upper West Side is like walking into any three or four star establishment of the late 90s and early 2000s. The room is quiet, filled with patterned banquettes, carpeted, and dotted with the oldest dining crowd in recent memory. The only people in my age group were being taken out to eat by their parents.

That didn't bode well for my wallet.

Actually, the menu is conceptually brilliant, divided into seafood, vegetables, and meat dishes. Every category has a series of small plates, appetizers (which might as well be called "slightly larger small plates), and entrees, all priced accordingly. This means that you can skate by without ever ordering a main course, which I took advantage of, instead ordering six small dishes, a side, and two desserts.

But the service left something to be desired. Before our server had even taken our drink order, our first four dishes had arrived at the table. Once I ordered a drink, ten minutes elapsed before the server came back to report that they were, in fact, out of the cocktail. After our final courses were cleared, we waited twenty minutes for dessert menus and another twenty minutes after our menus arrived, waiting for our order to be taken.

Nonetheless, the food was largely impressive. A take on a Greek salad was crisp and clean, speckled with fresh oregano. A plate of hummus, babaghanoush, and falafel came with thin, wafter crisps and a spicy mayonnaise. The bread that came gratis was two kinds of focaccia--one with black olives--and a crispy, fatty flatbread that went perfectly with our harissa marinated mussels, cooked out of the shell in a brunoise of tomato and carrots. Duck legs were wrapped in phyllo pastry and atop a sweet and thick date puree.

A rabbit porchetta, weirdly served cold, lacked flavor (as did the sad, underseasoned market carrots that accompanied it), but the blue prawns, head on, made up for that misstep. The prawns were perfectly cooked and seasoned and the heads were crunchy--I ate all four heads. Broccoli rabe was another disappointment, but dessert, when it finally arrived, was a dinner atonement. A grapefruit sorbet came in a hollowed grapefruit with halvah and segments of the fruit. Our second dish featured sweet and tangy plums over squares of a soft cinnamon cake that resembled, in texture, the fluffy inside of a sourdough loaf. It was a delicate and lovely end to a long meal.

*

Boulud Sud

20 W. 64th Street

New York, NY 10023

212.595.1313

Kaiseki

Before last night, I had never sat down to a full, multi-course, Japanese kaiseki meal. But I landed a reservation at Bouley's new TriBeCa hot spot, brushstroke. Ten courses, three hours (the courses moved a little too fast for my taste, a persistent NYC problem). We ordered an extra course, just to be cute.

Our meal began with outstanding cocktails--muddled red grapes in liqueur for me, and kiwi in green tea foam for my dining companion. Next, our first course, a Hassun, or seasonal appetizer: skewered, gently smoked salmon cube; gooseberry; turkey liver pate; Japanese berry; mushroom in sesame oil. A kabocha squash soup--undersalted, I felt--came next, with maitake mushrooms and toasted pumpkin seeds.

Then: a sashimi trio that could have come right from the ocean. Perfect, pink tuna. Toothsome fluke. Clean, sweet Spanish mackerel.

A remarkable chawan mushi, or Japanese egg custard, with uni and black truffle broth.

A nearly inedible duo of sardine sushi on rice, so fishy that after one, I pushed my plate away.

For a palate cleanser, a beautiful yin and yang of cold onion puree, beet puree, stewed onions, and onion crisps, which reminded me, in the best way possible, of Lipton's onion soup.

Poached lobster in a clam and edamame broth with a scallop dumpling did not disappoint, and neither did slick and fatty pork belly, marinated in pepper and served with malanga yam puree and ponzu. Our rice courses were a hit and a miss. Stewed wagyu beef over rice was an epic success, redolent of brisket and accompanied by a soothing red miso broth and salty cucumber and cabbage pickles. But a crab and mushroom hot pot was underseasoned, with overcooked crab and nearly nonexistent mushrooms. The pickle side included a dried fish pickle, which I wasn't expecting and which left a horrible fish aftertaste in my wearied palate.

Dessert? Awe inspiring. A quenelle of vanilla-soy ice cream arrived with toasted buckwheat and hit all the necessary notes of savory and sweet. Ditto for the soy milk custard, finished with green tea and a rich, hidden caramel at the bottom of the bowl. Crispy, delicious rice paper candy came as a petit four, along with frothy and warm green tea. It was a remarkable finish to a mostly remarkable meal.

*

brushstroke

30 Hudson Street

New York, NY 10013

212.791.3771

Lyonnaise Birthday

I went to Lyon, initially, to see an old friend from my BLT days who is now the lead chef. But he was out of town on vacation. That was fine. It was a birthday celebration regardless, with plenty of meat to go around. Duck wings--three of them--arrived with a sticky, salty glaze, just as addictive as the smaller, more precious Buffalo variety. A charcuterie platter featured chewy beef salami, lamb pate, country pate, blood sausage, spicy mustard, grain mustard, pickled cauliflower, and cornichons. Onion soup was everything we wanted and more--a crouton thick with cheese and bone marrow, a broth with beef and onions and strings of braised brisket. And a truffle inflected hot dog, served with sauerkraut and mustard on a soft pretzel, was a meal in and of itself.

Entrees were a little less uplifting. A special of mussels and French fries was not only woefully undersalted but also a little too redolent of the ocean. They smelled and tasted a little old, regrettably. Steak tartare was a true winner, salty and creamy and filled with capers that popped in the mouth. But the bechamel on a baked dish of macaroni and cheese wasn't quite the soft and supple creamy I craved.

And even though I found the mission fig tart for dessert a little dry, an ice cream sundae, threaded with toasted coconut clusters and sour cherries, made up the difference. We got a lot for our money and if I happened to live in the West Village, I might find myself stumbling in every few nights for a plate of those wings and a hot dog.

*

Lyon

118 Greenwich Avenue

New York, NY 10011

212.242.5966

Return to Flushing

Flushing rarely disappoints. This time, I headed out for Hunan food at Hunan Kitchen of Grand Sichuan. The room is noticeably smaller than most of the banquet hall dining rooms of outer Queens, the food just as potent. I took a tip from Sam Sifton and ordered what the Times recommended, with some deviation from the rules. Marinated wood ear mushrooms were slick and salty and chewy and bright; shards of cucumber came bathed in a vinegar mixture that coated each piece in some kind of miracle emulsion. Even the simplicity of fried pork dumplings astounded us. "These are how dumplings should taste," exclaimed one of my dining companions.

Braised pork Mao-style (you'll see a lot of reference to Mao in this spot, who, according to legend, shared a hometown with one of the proprietors) was really just fatty pork belly in a bright red sauce with baby bok choy. The texture isn't for everyone and harkens trotters, but trotters I can live with, really. Cumin coated lamb was crispy and aromatic and complimented by the leaves and stems of fresh cilantro and more than a few red Thai chiles.

Pea shoots sauteed with garlic were seasoned adequately, which is one of my usual complaints at Chinese restaurants that only serve greens as an afterthought. Actually, these greens tasted more of peas than some actual peas I have eaten.

For the rest of my companions, the evening's piece d' resistance was a whole duck, cooked in a mirepoix of vegetables and served over a bunsen burner, tableside. The waiter picked the braised meat from the bones and left all of it to simmer in a roasting pan. But I found my plate laden with more bones than meat and the addition of caraway seeds was nothing short of overwhelming. It tasted more of rye bread than barbecued duck, which is what it had been billed as. Also, cooked celery gives me the creeps and always has, so I had no particular longing to repeat my duck experience. Next time, I'll order what Sifton recommended: sliced pork with dried turnips.

*

Hunan Kitchen of Grand Sichuan

42-27 Main Street

Flushing, NY 11355

718.888.0553

Enzo

Back in Newburyport, I headed over to Enzo, recently opened in the Tannery and boasting a farmer's market menu. Phew, finally. Cocktails ranged from run-of-the-mill (classic Negroni) to inspired (market Bloody Mary with pickled garlic scapes). House foccacia, which I can only assume was made there, was soft and buttery.

Fried olives came in a crispy, cornmeal crust and stuffed with oozing cheese, a nice take. An appetizer of a soft goat and cow's milk cheese arrived with Tokyo turnips and baby arugula and honeyed Marcona almonds, simple, but smart. Bruschetta tasted of the garden: fresh dill, tomatoes, soft cheese, black olives.

Entrees, though well-conceived, were less successful. A dish of fresh linguine with maitake mushrooms was woefully under seasoned. Sea scallops over corn risotto were the requisite sweetness and crispiness, but the risotto was a portion in and of itself, overwhelming the dish.

A brown butter cake for dessert, served with an almond creme anglaise and fresh cherries hit all its marks, even if a chocolate pudding lacked enough starch to form an actual pudding, as opposed to a thick sauce.

Because the product is good, Enzo might overcome its issues and grow into itself. I certainly hope so.

*

Enzo

50 Water Street

Newburyport, MA 01950

978.462.1801

Piggies

The best kind of bachelorette is the kind where you sit down to dinner with eleven other women--all of whom are wearing ridiculously high heels--for a meal of roast pig.

We were at The Breslin, home of organ meats and pigs galore. First came a caesar salad, hearts of Romaine with a perfect, lemony dressing, fried parsley, fresh croutons, whole anchovies. Sometimes, the simplest dishes are the most satisfying.

It would have been nice to revel in the delight of a well-executed salad but, alas, the staff at The Breslin pushed us too far too fast. Before we had finished salad and sparkling wine, white wine and side dishes arrived, and then red wine, and then a whole pig. All night, servers were clearing plates while other members of our party ate. All night, wine arrived before we had attacked the glass previous.

The pig? Crisp skin, delicate meat, accompanied by a minty green sauce and a sweet red chutney. The head came on a second platter--eyeballs, brains, tongue, ears, and jowls for us to enjoy. But we had no time to complete our feast before the pig had been cleared and ice cream arrived on the table (really, ice cream, for $120?). They packed our pig to go, but without any of the sauces that came with. Duck fat potatoes, crisp and meaty, were the star of the evening, as were salty-sweet roast carrots. Wilted greens I could have done without. And the service? Well, they certainly didn't win my heart.

*

The Breslin

16 W. 29th Street

New York, NY 10001

212.679.1939