Terrible Twos

Well, maybe not terrible. But not great, either. I hit the East Village twice this week, once for a pricey meal at Hearth and once again for a steal at Apiary, even though we splurged on wine. At Hearth, we ordered a massive charcuterie board for a staggering $45, but most of the offal offered was a little too livery for my taste. By the time my delicious quail appetizer arrived--over a vinegary bed of grains--I was almost too full to enjoy it. A spatlese riesling to begin left me wanting more great wine, but a premier cru Burgundy disappointed, as did a dormant 2000 Bordeaux suggested to me by an enthusiastic sommelier. My main course--a selection of meats of which I can only clearly recall a smooth and lovely tongue--was too rich and ineptly composed. I couldn't figure out how to eat it or what to compare it to, besides a hard-up pot au feu. I had wanted the spaghetti and meatballs; next time, I'll go with my gut.

Donuts were average. I left very disappointed and a little broke. Apiary broke my heart a little less. Our seven-course tasting included a bright and clean tranch of hamachi, served with micro greens and hearts of palm. But, like so many of the following courses, it was undersalted. Hake had a perfect crust and came in a creamy pool of razor clams and potatoes and bacon. Papparadelle with rabbit and tomatoes and basil was toothsome and satisfying, even if it defied the season a little (who garnishes with fresh basil in January, anyway?). Sweetbreads, though overcooked, came bathed in a sticky, salty, and sweet sauce and over a fine puree. Duck was perfectly cooked, but the accompanying cabbage had no seasoning whatsoever.

A composed cheese plate offered three cheeses, fruit bread, and a trio of honeys. It was nice, sure, but a little basic for a full course of seven. And the chocolate lava cake was reductive, as was the overwrought and chewy apple puff pastry provided at meal's end.

But Apiary has an enviable wine list, something it has in common with Hearth. Both lists can bring a person closer to Bordeaux with some funk and age than any of New York's other prize places. A 1982 Prieure-Lichine was actually in our price range, believe it or not. And so we escaped tough puff pastry on the back of old Bordeaux. Next time, maybe I'll stick to the bars at both haunts.

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Hearth

403 East 12th Street

New York, NY 10009

646.602.1300

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Apiary

60 Third Avenue

New York, NY 10003

212.254.0888

A Trip to Latin America

Or, more accurately, a trip to Nuela, on W. 24th Street, where Peruvian haute cuisine is alive and well. Nuela opened last year and has done an admirable job of turning Latin American food into high-end art. The room is a vibrant red, sort of reminiscent of the color wash one might encounter in South Beach. It will appeal to some and not others, and sitting by the floor-to-ceiling windows only offers a vista of down-on-its-luck 24th Street. A better bet is probably to sit at the bar.

Before any food arrives, Nuela sends out tiny warm rolls made with yucca flour. They taste like elevated cornbread and come with a salted cream and honey for spreading. Pork belly with cheese-filled arepas and a ramp chimmichurri didn't disappoint, arranged architecturally into cubes and spheres. The short rib empanada, stuffed with a traditional savory-sweet cross of meat and golden raisins, was a success of flaky crust and earthy meat, even if the pie itself--one small serving--was a little too little to be an adequate appetizer.

The ceviches, as expected, stole the show. Blood red tuna came with a charred pineapple marinade and slices of watermelon and French breakfast radish, a spicy and crunchy compliment to all that sweet. Hamachi was served with a black garlic marinade that did not overtake the delicacy of the fish. Our only regret was not opting for the fish of the day, red snapper with chili, lime, and red onion.

Entrees at Nuela are offered in several ways. Some of the dishes are normal, entree sized portions and some are large format options for the table to share. They offer a suckling pig in three sizes--a quarter, half, and whole pig--as well as chicken, porterhouse, and duck. We chose the duck, served hot in a paella pan over rice, sugar snap peas, and market carrots. The manager came over to scrape the soccarat, or burnt rice bits, from the bottom of the pan. A confit of leg and a breast roasted rare accompanied a fat lobe of duck foie gras, not to be outdone by a duck egg, sunny-side-up. It was a transcendent take of an Andalucian dish.

The wine list at Nuela is heavily South American, not really my bag, and expensive for what it is. I found a bargain in a 2005 Shafer Merlot (not normally the type of wine I would have chosen, but supple enough to live up to the food). And I finished my meal with deep-fried cinnamon churros and hot chocolate for dipping, along with a glass of cream sherry, which may be the perfect way to end a Saturday night in New York.

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Nuela
43 West 24th Street
New York, NY 10010
212.929.1200

Omakase

It would seem unbelievable, to most, that I, devotee to all things culinary, had never before sat down to an omakase sushi dinner. Well, for one, omakase can be insanely expensive and not everyone is comfortable with the wide open unknowingness that comes with sitting down for a multi-course raw fish meal. T. and I were planning to go well before now, but she suffered an allergic reaction to fish over the summer and was told by the doctor to wait it out. And so it was not until cool November that we made it our mission to eat through an omakase menu at 1 or 8, a stylish-but-homey (surprising, since the restaurant is all white) sushi joint in Williamsburg that has gotten anemic press since it opened last year.

First of all, the Sushi Sekis and Sushi Yasudas of the world will happily charge you $200-$300 for an omakase tasting, but at 1 or 8 you can sit at the bar and do the flight for $50, $70, or $90. We chose the middle route, sushi rather than sashimi, though I would have been happier with either. I've decided to list what we ate below, since it was mostly an undulating flow of raw fish affixed to rice with a dollop of wasabi and a faint glisten of soy sauce.

Blood red raw tuna

Yellowtail

King salmon

Red snapper

Raw squid with uni

Chopped mackerel with scallions and yuzu

Poached eel

Sea scallop

Amberjack

Fluke with monkfish liver

Big-eye tuna

Mackerel, unchopped

Sardines

Finally, the piece d' resistance: a thick, toro-like slice of tuna, seared on each side and dusted with salt, pepper, and lemon. It tasted like steak and that heartiness was not lost on us.

I could have lived without the sardines, which were almost unbearably fishy. Eel isn't really my cup of tea, either, but the large mouthful was cut by the sticky rice. I was glad, on both courses, that we had opted for sushi and not sashimi. I missed ama ebi; T. had informed out sushi chef that she had a shellfish allergy, but despite my enthusiastic endorsement, the chef kicked me out of the shellfish dealings, too. T. offered to buy me a hand roll, but I declined. It seemed rude, after all.

I was surprised by the mildness of the raw squid. Squid isn't my favorite fish and I tend to avoid it in restaurants, but this version was chewy and complimented by the soft, briny sea urchin. The yellowtail, or hamachi, was one of the cleanest fish I have ever eaten. 1 or 8 turned out consistently fresh and clean product. At meal's end, they offered us steaming bowls of miso soup where, at bowl's bottom, we found a surprise lurking: house-made soft tofu.

Modern eaters, in the face of heritage pork or American wagyu beef, eat far too little good fish. Forget about the tuna or the swordfish or the prawns; we have forsaken fine raw fish in favor of a little more meat in our diets. I realize that it requires skill and attention and good fishing to produce such a noteworthy meal, but it's worth recognizing that the beauty of fish can sometimes surpass even the fine marble of an aged rib-eye.

Are You Being Served?

Last night found me in Hoboken at a mediocre sushi restaurant. Actually, the food itself was decent. My appetizer, hamachi with chopped jalapenos and yuzu, was clean and refreshing. Hamachi, otherwise known as yellowtail, is a firm fish that holds up well to raw and ceviche-style preparations. It's one of my favorite fishes to enjoy raw. The yuzu juice acted as a par-cook marinade, not unlike a traditional South American ceviche. I prefer fresh jalapenos to canned, as these ones were, but regardless, the heat was ample without overwhelming the fish. All in all, nicely done.

I probably should have stuck with raw fish through and through--usually, at sushi restaurants, I either sit at the bar and order omakase, or I order sashimi a la carte. The fish, unadorned and fresh, is what I crave.

Last night was cold, though, and I felt like something more substantial so I ordered a soup of udon, chicken, shrimp tempura, and egg. Honestly, I don't know why I continue to order udon soups because I am always disappointed. I love the consistency of the noodles but the broth always leaves something to be desired and the things floating in the broth are never better than the noodles themselves. My two udon exceptions are the udon hot pots at Fatty Crab and Hagi, where Chinese sausage and soft poached eggs contribute to a delicious udon stew. In any case, I hope I learned my lesson: at sushi bars, stick with the sushi.

The only truly terrible part of dinner was the service. I am not one of those uptight crazies who gets all nutso over careless service. Certain things annoy me; I hate having to hunt for my server and I hate having to wait an inordinate amount of time for my drinks and food. But most of the restaurants that I choose to spend my money at have pretty high service standards.

Not so much for Sushi House, where my dining companion's salad arrived a full ten minutes before my hamachi. (By the time my hamachi hit, her salad was gone and cleared.) Drinks came after our appetizers and a glass of plum wine I was drinking on ice was mistaken by a busboy for tap water. Despite my hand-waving and desperate cries of "No, that isn't water," the busboy poured tap into my drink. A few minutes later, a manager arrived to offer me another drink, but mine was already half-gone and I was driving, so I didn't want another drink. What I wanted was for that particular drink, all six dollars of it, to be removed from my check. I didn't say this, of course, but it's one of those unspoken things that managers do when a customer is visibly upset about having lost her drink to tap water.

The drink was on the check and I paid that check without complaint. So my distress wasn't exactly recognized by the FOH staff.

Our waitress cleared our plates by stacking everything in front of me at the table and then lifting them out of my way. It's a pretty gross method of table-maintenece. I don't particularly want to look at someone else's ort after I've eaten. For that, I work in restaurants.

Finally, our check sat out, AmEx protruding, for another healthy ten minutes before our waitress returned to run the card.

Perhaps I'm too picky, or too observant, having spent most of my life trying to avoid service snags in a professional setting. No matter the caliber of the restaurant, though, service standards should be consistent and fluid. Servers exist to ensure the comfort of the guest, not heighten the guest's anxiety level. For that, I have a personal trainer.

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Sushi House Bar and Lounge
1319 Washington Street
Hoboken, NJ 07030
201.222.9991