Taste the eggs with boucheron and romesco on tomato toast and you’ll want them every time too.
There’s not a single dish on the menu at Gato you’ll come across in any of the olive oil-worshipping countries that ring the Mediterranean. It’s all original Bobby Flay. From my first early visit to the soaring excavated arches of the striking Rockwell-designed space, I was surprised and totally smitten by Flay’s flamboyant creativity. Unlike most chefs who can sometimes be found in the kitchen, standing up front calling the orders, he was visible in the back in his navy blue chef’s coat, cooking on the line. On my last visit he was out. I didn’t notice a difference.
I thought I didn’t like steak and cheese till I tasted Gato’s charred beef with blue cheese brown butter.
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An Austrian at Bâtard
Octopus pastrami is the only dish I don’t want to live without that remains on the menu.
It took several weeks for chef-partner Markus Glocker to find himself at Bâtard. Then the bad buzz turned to raves. I fell for his mother’s cooking — homey beef stew and lamb two ways: elegant rare chops on the plate, rustic braised chunks with vegetables and potatoes to ladle from the big orange pot on the table. His brilliant thick turbot hid an egg yolk buried inside to splash on the spinach underneath. So I was shocked and disappointed to see my favorite dishes gone last Thursday. Only the remarkable octopus pastrami remained. And the special of the day (always) poussin schnitzel with his luscious (never refrigerated) potato salad.
I vote to bring back Chef Glocker’s lamb two ways, aristocratic chop, rustic casserole.
Has a Michelin star gone to the chef’s head? His plates seemed overly precious, too fussy. I thought my friend’s strudel entrée scrawny and tight. My few slices of duck breast were wildly over-salted. “You should have ordered his venison with sweet and sour red cabbage,” the house’s long time proprietor Drew Nieporent said. My friends and I had a great evening, but I was embarrassed that all wasn’t what I’d promised. The chocolate cake with a birthday candle was definitely an improvement on the chef’s own Sachertorte. I comforted myself with the farewell almond cookie and the lush chocolate truffle with olive. Glocker strikes me as an obsessed perfectionist. I want to believe he’s not on a permanent detour. 239 West Broadway between White and Walker Streets. 212 219 2777.
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Dirty French, Dirty Fingers
Moist sliced chicken breast in foie gras mustard cream is the first act of the bird in two courses.
It was love on first bite at Dirty French. A parade of carved heads with bloody noses, a series of roosters running riot, the sommelier dressed like Little Bo Peep, a bargain basement décor, a teeny two-top table. None of it annoyed me when balanced by the cocky brilliance of the kitchen. Starting with the pan sautéed–to-order house flatbread meant to tear with your fingers and drag through fromage blanc. The French menu has been “violated” if you will, with accents from France’s colonies, like the fabulous spicy boudin, and the cumin rubbed saddle of lamb.
Nothing prepares you for the devilish sootiness of the blistered dark meat complete with claw.
I am haunted even now by the daring $72 whole chicken for two in two services discovered on my second visit. Dollypartonesque breasts line up in a lush foie gras-mustardy cream and there are condiments and crepes to roll them in. Then coming after in a black iron skillet are the thighs and legs all in one piece, including the bird’s claws. Soaked in a pungent Vietnamese marinade, the hindquarters have been cooked in chicken fat until blistered and blackened. Pick it up and chew. That’s why you came all the way to the Ludlow Hotel, isn’t it? And I agree it’s outrageous to require a credit card with a $50 a person cancellation fee for your hard-won seats. 180 Ludlow Street just south of Houston 212 254 3000.
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Botequim: A Taste of Brazil
Come with friends to Botequim so you can share the churrasco misto and try other dishes as well.
I wasn’t expecting much at Botequim. Yes, I’d read that it was the Brazilian fantasy of the accomplished couple who own Tocqueville and 15 East. But even so, sitting there in almost total darkness in the cellar of the Union Square Hyatt, the bright open kitchen seemed almost too relaxed. Yes, the soft bossa nova was very sexy except I am bopping in my chair, all alone, at a most unBrazilian hour waiting for friends to check in. Quickly, as a parade of our choices arrives, we marvel how good it all is. The small cheese buns. The surprisingly delicate pastelzinhos, so unlike the usual clunky empanada. Complex house-cured cod croquettes. Suddenly the table is crowded with entrées: a rich, almost black, pot roast of country chicken. The classic feijoada in a casserole with the obligatory sides. Short ribs nuzzling a furrow of farofa. On a second visit, I discover the fiercely rich and buttery polenta fattened with cream, and the churrasco misto – a $76 smashup of meats, supposedly for two, that was more than enough for the three of us: flank steak, a chunk of Brazil’s favorite top cap steak, a slab of fatty short rib, and hidden underneath, housemade chorizo sausage. We agreed to skip dessert, but it came anyway. My favorite: sweet coconut cake. 132 Fourth Avenue between 12 and 13th Streets. 212 432 1324.
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Finding the Bar Bolonat Vibe
I come to Bar Bolonat for the poussin with pomegranate and walnuts, baked in rice that sticks.
Cocktails from the full bar at Bar Bolonat take a while to materialize and the kitchen delivery can be dramatically staggered too. A warm Jerusalem bagel with a thimble of za’atar and olive oil to dip it in can sustain you in the pauses. Then vegetables arrive in seductive guises: “everyday cauliflower” with peanut tahini puffs, fatoush salad under lavash shards, a canoe of delicata squash carrying spicy brittle. We share the Hudson street kibbe – bulgar teardrops filled with spiced beef on a preserved lemon sauce. My friend who doesn’t eat chicken is beguiled by the intense forest essence of wild mushroom pasta, while the rest of us share the mahogany-coated poussin baked in a bed of rice and potatoes with walnuts and pomegranates on top – one of my favorite birds in town. It comes whole in its baking dish. Usually a layer of rice is stuck to the bottom and you have to scrape it out. Not tonight, I’m sad to say. 611 Hudson Street NW corner of West 12th Street. 212 390 1545
From the Blue Taboon at Bustan
Bustan’s elegant spreads to pile on the house’s oily Taboon-baked pita are the way to begin.
Masa Plays Madison Avenue
Kanpachi this firm and fresh is unforgettable, delicious with jalapeño and potato sticks.
That’s a Cy Twombly behind Masa’s favorite flowering branches.
Give in to the inevitability of Peking duck tacos and the fun of spicy chicken wings. Maybe you want a maitake mushroom roll, better than most of the sushi. Of course, well-heeled Masa familiars will order his classics, creamy toro with caviar to spread on ethereal toast and white truffle risotto. Very expensive and, in my book, not nearly as moving as my new favorites above. Yes, it was disappointing not to see Masa that first week, but he did appear on my second visit, standing in the corner of the kitchen, conducting, pointing, swooping in when he couldn’t help himself. I wouldn’t count on regular sightings, but I suspect he’s got his chef standins drilled to honor the dauntingly extensive offerings. Is Gagosian there? Do you care? 976 Madison Avenue near SW corner of 76th Street, below Gagosian Gallery. 646 647 2942
Cosme: A Mexican Master Takes on New York
Cosme’s voluptuous burrata with “weeds” on top is not to be missed.
Rainbow Room: A Beatitude of Brunch
The chef sprays truffle cream on this soft boiled egg atop layers of cheesy polenta and wild mushrooms.
It might be enough that the legendary, landmarked Rainbow Room has been lovingly restored with crystal necklaces at every window that make rainbows on the carpet. Whether or not you long to commune with the city from on high again, even if, like me, you don’t actually like brunch, treat yourself to the madness of this over-the-top buffet. Come earlyish before the full tourist crush, Sundays only from 11 am. Will you start with oysters? Or sashimi or dim sum? Should you save room for one of a dozen Indian dishes? Or Thai? There’s something here for every taste, pickles, a salad bar, a buffet for children. I am focused first on breakfast, mini muffins and classic breads, marvelous French toast, wondrously soft scrambled eggs and pedigreed bacon. Still, I cannot resist Chinese barbecued pork stuffed into a white bun. Then I’m stopped by a chef waving his spoon over an odd collection of pots. I choose cheesy polenta, and wild mushroom stew for him to layer in my bowl. Carefully he peels a soft-boiled egg and nestles it on top, then shoots truffle foam over all. The combination is breathtaking. My tablemates run off to get some too, leaving behind a luscious little chicken potpie with foie gras and corned beef hash for me to taste.
Between courses of Rainbow’s brunch, clear your palate drinking in the glorious view.
On any other day, lunch could be just these mostly New York State cheeses, runny and ripe. I help myself to a few thousand calories worth. And then, since this is work and I am a critic, dessert in a must. In a far corner I find fruit, gelato sundaes, miniature custards, trifles and tarts. And most appealingly, classic apple pie with a latticework crust. A double espresso will get me sober enough for the trip home. Rainbow Room brunch isn’t going to be your new Sunday religion, but maybe once a year. It’s more than worth the $95 plus tip. 30 Rockefeller Center 65th Floor 212 632 5000
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Of Thyme and The River Café
Don’t ever let yourself get so jaded you don’t thrill to The River Café’s view of lower Manhattan.
Next week I’ll explain why the exciting also-rans are not on this list but worth a visit anyway.
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Photos may not be used without permission of Gael Greene. Copyright 2014. All rights reserved.
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