Tuesday, July 28, 2015


Find the humongous clock hovering over Madison Square Park and it will lead you to The Clocktower in the Edition Hotel.  Although it's not technically in the tower (one flight up from the hotel's lobby), it's a befitting name, conjuring up associations with the iconic Westminster clock Big Ben, and the clubby eatery is rife with British nuance, from fish and chips to staffers pronouncing the Queen's English.  The chef is a true Brit as well, Jason Atherton, who has earned
 a Michelin star at his former
 restaurant in Sheffield.  There is definitely an old boys aesthetic inspiring the food and decor, but Atherton's talent lends modern and creative touches to the standards.  It would be a very picky client who couldn't find something to delight upon the menu.  And even before you have to choose anything, a piping hot loaf of mild sourdough, quartered, graces the table, good enough on its own but heavenly with lashings of a thick, buttermilk-whipped butter, pure and white and meltingly creamy.

And speaking of clubby, the cocktail list takes inspiration from that of the nighttime variety.  Some have funny names and clever riffs on industry standards, but our neighbor's sported an unexpected garnish: two illuminated glow-sticks looping above, which definitely emphasizes a playfulness at hand.  While the food is seriously good, Atherton is not taking himself or the rigors of fine dining too seriously.

Our young and dashing waiter was exceptionally attentive and charming, putting up with my friend's cheeky incessant banter with the grace of an old soul.    The sommelier, commensurately helpful, conveyed his savvy with a crisp accent to assist us in finding a brisk Gruner that paired marvelously with our first plate.  Scallops and cauliflower, both richly bronzed in a nutty brown
butter laden with bright capers and golden raisins came three to the plate, making it ample enough to share a bite without compromise. A spring leaf salad (although we are headstrong
into summer) was almost sizable enough to halve, but the tasty tumble of greens with striking ribbons of stripey carrot ribbons and toothsome raw artichoke made itself easy to finish on my own, in its lightly lively in its citrus dressing.

The menu rallies between buoyantly playful and sophisticatedly modernist.   An "old fashioned bucket of oysters, bits and bobs" is, in actuality, an architecturally striking seafood tower, much more elegant than its description.  There is a mac and cheese, but here it's no side-dish noodle: fortified with tender, slow-cooked ox cheek and wild mushrooms, it is a substantial entree.    Dover sole, on the other hand, was the classic rendition.  A special that night, the delicate fish was deboned a table and anointed with a luscious brown butter and more capers.  But at $54, it had better be good, right?  Other than lavishly sauced, it is served unadorned, so although there are no side dishes listed on the menu, our waiter happily offered a selection of roasted vegetables, haricot verts or two different potato preparations, upon request.  I opted for the vegetables (I suppose I was expecting a standard summer array of eggplant and zucchini), but instead what
 arrived was fennel, onions and potatoes, which I love but was admittedly not expecting.   I also felt like had I wanted potatoes, the two other options would've sufficed, so I felt a little force-potatoed.  But the fennel and onions were caramelized to a tender sweetness, and the little knobs of potato deliciously waxy and dense, so not a huge issue.  Additionally, my seared halibut had a bounty of produce: a crown of bristly little greens, carrots both roasted and pureed, and morsels of delicate chanterelles.  It also had an abundance of milky pink peppercorn sauce.  Both of these things made fine accompaniments with the impeccably fresh, tasty filet, but the flavors fought one another, making little sense in composition.  There was enough fish to go around, however, alternating bites daubed in sauce and ones paired with vegetation.  Looking at the bright side, it was like having two dishes in one.

Finishing things off, my tablemate was jonesing for the pistachio souffle, but our meal had been a lengthy one already, and that guy required another twenty minutes, as souffles do, from ordering, so we opted for the "strawberries and cream", which definitely showcased pastry chef's Sebastian Rouxel's roots from the French Laundry.  It was a novel composition on the plate, a trompe d'oeil custard slicked over with a glossy strawberry aspiclooked like a cool  fruity soup until your spoon broke its surface, revealing the creamy vanilla custard beneath.   An olive oil cake, light yet firm, soaked up the juices of a pert verjus sorbet, lip-smackingly tart and vibrant with prime summer berries.  Another sweet arrives before the check: a quaint tin box filled with various confections.  A plush, sticky strawberry marshmallow, crisp and melting
 dark chocolate covered toffee, and (my favorite) a burnt sugar caramel, sweet and toasty with the perfect level of chewiness.  They won't pull your teeth out but definitely offer up a bit of resistance.  At least they won't pull out good, strong American teeth.  Those Brits, on the other hand.....

5 Madison Avenue (east of Madison Square Park at 24th street)
tel.  1.212.413.4300

Monday, July 27, 2015


There's such a buzz about Seamore's that it almost transcends the honking masses of vehicles trying to escape the city on a Friday evening... certainly NOT the best time to jump in line to join the rest of the New Yorkians who all decided to stay in town and try out The Meatball Shop boy's new nautical venture.   If it weren't located on the stretch of Broome Street that leads into the Holland Tunnel's escape towards all things summer, the beach-shack sensation that Seamore's achieves would be even more successful.  But even so, as soon as you conquer the extended no-reservations-policy wait, the laid-back seashore vibe is contagious.

That wait, however, will be long.  I mean, we were quoted an hour and forty-five minutes, but with the bounty of restaurants nearby, I feel like many might put their names in and then surrender to a less swarmed destination.  So what we initially feared an almost two hour purgatory turned into a mere twenty minutes, thus shifting the mood to an even more delightful level. The soundtrack is as lively as the crowd, although it's a little hard to hear over the din of street noise and ebullient conversation: this is not a place for serious discussions, or really much of any
 discussion at all.  Aside from necessary banter to decide on what to order from the many potentially shareable offerings, most of your energies should just be focused on enjoying the surrounding, the party-like atmosphere, and most importantly, the super-delicious food.

We basically stayed exclusively piscine throughout the evening except for our very first dish.  As soon as the arrive in the market, I cannot resist grilled shishito peppers, and these were exemplary.  Big fat ones, bigger and fatter than any I've ever seen, with their mysteriously unpredictable variances in spiciness, they were charred and just oily enough to cling to flaky salt crystals.  A generous squeeze of lemon added a nice summery touch.   There are an array of other shareable starters plates, like curried mussels, a fiesty ceviche,   and even guacamole that could be paired together to make a snacky meal.

Along with loaded sandwiches (which include a vegetarian and meat offering for the nautically-averse), there are the Big Fish Tacos.  We went for the classic: a seared filet with a smear of black beans, pico, avocado and crema over an open flat corn tortilla, which was kind of between soft and crisp, toothsome verging on tough.  But it was definitely sturdy enough to hold in all of its toppings, which combined to a deliciously lively effect.

There are three salads upon which you could add your choice of the daily selection of fishes, but more appealingly are the Reel Deals: bowls combining the three daily side dish offerings and your choice of fish.  On the docket that night was flounder and sword, porgy and monk... we went for the latter two.  The monkfish was absolutely perfect.  The outside achieved a beachy char and the meaty fish was just succulent.  It comes with a little tuft of healthy greens aside and that night's daily sides of a pearly Israeli couscous, crisp, corn-off-the-cob and a braise of stewy collards.  The corn was billed as a charred salad, but just tasted of raw fresh kernels... which worked well with the added sauce (I chose a piquant salsa verde), but the misadvertising was noticeable.  The porgy seemed blatantly undercooked, but I was
Add avocado to anything fro $2.50
 dining with someone who palate might'nt be as sensitive as mine, and he didn't raise a fuss (and I didn't notice 'til the rosy-raw interior showed it's gelatinous face).   Maybe that was in part because of the mouth-watering miso brown butter sauce he chose... which would atone for almost any evil.   I say almost because it taste the slightest bit fishy, too, on the done edges, but I think this was simply a blip on the radar.  Everything else at Seamore's was perfectly executed at our tables and from anything I could see on surrounding one, from a fat, juicy skate sandwich to the crispy fish taco that almost resembled a huge corn dog splayed across the flat tortilla. 

 And what couldn't be a more perfect way to end the evening but a cup or cone of Odd Fellows soft serve, which rotates its daily flavor just like the fish board.  We lucked out that night with a revolutionarily refreshing kaffir lime, its citrusy floral funk sprinkled with a islandy crunch of coconut granola.  You're only given easy options at Seamore's: choose a fish, pick a sauce, cup or cone, topping or not.  'Cause it might not be that automatic to get a table at here, but once you're in, the eatin' is easy.

390 Broome Street, Nolita, NYC 
tel.  212-730-6005

Monday, July 20, 2015

UNTITLED at The Whitney

Just the name Michael Anthony sets its own bar very high- a good thing for a restaurant that kind of doesn't have a name of its own.   In collaboration with iconic restaurateur Danny Meyer and situated in the renowned Whitney Museum, though, I could hardly keep my expectations from soaring.  The early word, however, had been hit and miss- most confoundingly, as it were, for the service.   But if those premature critiques had any merit to them at all, they would be attributed solely to opening jitters.  The service was as adept as the restaurant is lovely, and the food worthy in both taste and appearance of the masterpieces displayed in the museum adjacent.

The walls are glass, creating only nominal divide between indoor and outdoor seating (of which there is both).  By the time prime dining hour rolled around, not a table was empty in or out.  The waitstaff, flitting about briskly between the open kitchen and numerous tables, are smartly clad in black aprons and crisp white shirts: just like Chef Anthony himself, who was intent on quality control of everything coming out of the kitchen, and simultaneously keeping a watchful eye on diners and staff alike.

It's hard not to be distracted by the glory of the room itself, however, befitting of a restaurant in an art museum.  It is a lofty space, open and airy, beautiful in its simple lines.  As the sun sets, still at a rather late hour on this particular mid-summer evening, the mood changes significantly, adopting a magical effervescence that twinkling lights and dimmed lighting always does.

Pickly wonders.
Peas, please.
The food follows that same aesthetic, merging a whimsical artistry with Chef Anthony's signature seasonal focus and masterful technique.  Even a simple bowl of peas seemed special; toothsome orbs of brilliant green just kissed with fresh mint atop a thin swath of creamy, dense yogurt.  This was all about the peas, no bells and whistles, because they sang by themselves.  A small dish of lightly cured vegetables varied with each
litle bit, jicama with a sweet-sour bite, carrots with a pickly snap, and (the best) pale yellow beans with a zippy kick.  Another snack of zesty chickpea puree was served with crispy flatbread planks and  halved heirloom cherry tomatoes that leaked their luscious juices into the mix, creating rich and umami-laden mouthfuls that most hummus only dreams of.
The one dish I tried that night that didn't thrill me was a beet melange with verbena and yogurt, with  a surfeit of lush summer berries tipping the scales from salad to sweet .  It would work marvelously as a palate-cleanser, however, or a pre-dessert course. Keeping on the light and refreshing side, a slightly more substantial dish of cucumber, smashed and ribboned, lolled in an verdant,  oniony broth delicately elevated with a murmur a soy and sesame to enliven earthy buckwheat soba noodles tangled furtively
 underneath.    Fluke with radish, sorrel and lime was inarguably gorgeous enough to merit consideration for the Whitney's collection were it not so delightful going down: a study in the ethereal lightness of an ocean breeze.

As our entrees arrived, the sun bowed out, that magical ambiance filtered through the room.   The cupped overhead lights take on a lunar glow, and the spots refract off the steely glass creating a discernibly different feel.  It will be interested to see how winter temperatures will be handled: one wonders if that thick plate glass will be able to hold out the cold.  But on this balmy summer evening, that was the least of our concerns.  The focus now was on our main plates, my favorite
 being the tilefish served in a buttery corn puree and topped with diaphanous coins of summer squash- balancing
indulgently rich with the purity of summertime.  I wondered out loud where tilefish-such a wonderful fish (also recently sampled at Benoit) - had been all my life, and our waiter quickly interjected "In the Long Island Sound", verifying the local/sustainable aesthetic by which their seafood is procured.  On a meatier note, four big spare ribs were hearty and juicy, smoked in a peppery rub and kissed with the sweetness of an apricot glaze.  Alongside the entrees, we tried the pole beans with calamari and hazelnuts.  The beans, yellow and green, were cartoonishly long and fun to eat, a long, flat bean you have to cut into pieces to attain manageable bites.  They achieved a blistered char from an ephemeral pass on a ripping hot grill along with tiny, tender calamari, scorched until the tasted like bacon of the sea, all beach smoke and gently ocean salinity.
   And just when I thought things couldn't get any better, there were the turnips with green beans, pecorino and guanciale: a salty vegetable carbonara that countered the hearty decadence of that sauce with mild summer produce, taking it from much-too-much to lick-the-bowl clean.

Our dessert shared that characteristic, a simple sounding strawberry-poundcake ensemble, but the cake had been toasted so it's buttery edges crisped to golden, the berries so magnificently flavorful they shoudn't have been real, and all of this slathered in smooth ricotta puree bedecked with tiny pansies.  There are other similarly tempting dessert items, all of which tended away from the meticulous precision of the entree plating and focused on pure pleasure: a thick wedge of peanut butter cake drizzled with syrupy blueberries, or a crowd-pleasing megalith of a chocolate chip cookies served with its own little jar of gently sweet vanilla milk.   I mean, even in an art museum, pretty can only go so far... fortunately here, they've nailed both.   Untitled won't need to worry about finding a name- it has already mastered everything that counts.

 99 Gansevoort Street
New York, NY 10014

Wednesday, July 8, 2015


Here's my very un-thorough, wholy un-comprehesive, biased and superficial favorites list  of what I saw and loved at this year's Fancy Food Show at the Javits Center.  To be clear, the show is just overwhelming.  It would take a full team of judges to be able to even come close to soundly ranking the infinite array of products here, so this is just a smattering of things I enjoyed.  And by purveyors that were pretty cool standing behind their products, as well.

1.   Stahlbush Island Farms is three years in a row my favorite concept and product, especially given the overwhelming snacky unhealthiness of the majority of products at the show.  Stahlbush features flash-frozen, super fresh, sustainable produce from the lush Willamette valley in Oregon, that is more than eatable just thawed straight from the freezer, nothing done to.  Well, depending on the plant:  the fruits are all scrumptious (marionberry is a favorite) and the asparagus and cauliflower purees are enjoyable sans seasoning (would be even better, perhaps, warmed with a smudge of truffle butter, but I'm just saying).  Others definitely need something done with them, but that is the point.      http://www.stahlbush.com/

 2.    I only tried their pickles, but I see on their website they also offer a Bloody Mary mix and a ketchup, all of which I would enthusiastically sample.  'Cause they are richly savory, pungent in flavor and then.... wait for it..... pow!  The pickles, at least, are appropriately named.  They get you right in the back of the throat, long after you've enjoyed their crisp garlicky, pickly splendor.  I actually think I tried a different flavor (a beer pickle was what I recalled), but this is the only one on their website, so maybe there are more wonders left to come.  http://suckerpunchgourmet.com/

 3.  This was a real novelty.  I've had aloe juice (love it... sort of like a naturally occurring bubble tea), but this is just the chunks of aloe, sweetened lightly with honey.   I'd be REALLY curious to taste it unsweetened, but catering to the majority of palates, this will probably be an easier sell.  I'd love to look out for a plain version (or at least a sugar-free or less sweet option) at FFS 2016, however (just sayin').  It's super healthy, full of minerals and antioxidants, as well as purportedly helping as an anti-inflammatory and detoxification.  http://vinkandberi.com/products.php

4.   Here we go with my marionberries ago, but like they say, you can take the girl out of Oregon, but you can't take the Oregon out of the girl.  I loved this jam:  lumpy and supple, intensely flavored and a perfect spreadable-spoonable consistency.   Just a lovely product.  http://www.oregongrowers.com/

5.  As I was leaving (having consumed my ninth or tenth sprig of devastating yummy curried cauliflower pickle), the sales rep mentioned they had run out of the brussels sprouts..... BRUSSELS SPROUTS!!!   So while I didn't try that, the cauliflower still earns a top spot on this list.  It really barely qualifies as a pickle, so gently vinegared that it tasted purely of a sweet, curry-flecked floret, but it was really, really, good.  Like, restaurant-good.  Had I been served that all of anywhere, I would've been impressed.
Let alone just opening a can.

  6.  The intensely pineapply Azores pineapple puree squeeze tube earned this company its entry.  They offer a huge array of fruits, featuring most prominently those from Portugal, and combination fruit-vegetable purees, herb-infused fruits and honeys.  But it is the Azores pineapple that tastes like no other pineapple you've ever had... except maybe the pineapple flavored LifeSaver candy.  But this, my friends, is the real deal.  Their unique metal packaging reduces oxidation and preserves the vibrant colors and flavors of the fruit, making them an exceptional option for a home cook or catering company alike.

7.  I like kraut in its place, but on its own.. well, I prefer my cabbage braised or slawed.  But this garlic kraut could eat like a salad.  It's organic (bonus!) and raw (who'd've thunk?), so naturally full of probiotics and probably insanely good for you.  But this stuff has some serious spunk along with its virtue... something I was super hesitant to try but am SO glad that I did.  http://shop.goldminenaturalfoods.com/Sauerkraut-Kimchi/products/61/

8.  On my restaurant reviews, I would never condone a pre-fab cooking sauce, but Saucy Sauce's Spicy Garlic is delicious.  It's punchy and zesty, with a legitimate garlic kick and umami allure, with just a hint of fishy funk (it is an elevated nuoc mam).  For a real punch of flavor in a pinch, this stuff is sublime.
(Plus, I totally love the name.)
9.  Meat jerky is nothing new, for sure, but Epic is offering chicken, bison, turkey, bacon, and more.  The Sesame-Currant Chicken Meat is extraordinary: sweet-savory bites of responsibly sourced chicken blended with nuts, seeds and fruits.  No sugar, honey or syrups sweeten the product, although it definitely has that appeal.  They created the bars and bites to counter the tsunami of hyper-sugary pseudo-candy protein bars on the market.  If people want easy-to-eat protein, supplementary why not just go back  to the source?  (Vegetarians not allowed.)

10.  These things are off the charts.  Cheese Cake Cones from Aunt Butchie's Desserts in keepin'-it-local Brooklyn.  Take a traditional almond lace cookie and roll it into a cone, pipe in a fluffy, moussy cheesecake filling and voila.  A most unexpectedly delicious and decadent portable dessert.  The shell is delicate and buttery, the filling dense and rich and totally drool-worthy.  I've always been a fan of the graham cracker crust on cheesecake, but Aunt Butchie just converted me.

11.  I'm neurotic about my milk.  I only want grass-fed organic, and seriously, I'm not always that conscientious about everything else I consume.  But milk's one of those things that seems like it... compounds any badness if it isn't annihilated at the get-go.  So I'm surprised I never thought about the whey protein added to a few things I actually DO consume: one of those is protein drinks.  So here's Kura from New Zealand, with a pretty delicious, Omega-3 boosted, probiotic protein powder to the rescue.  I'd go with vanilla: although I haven't tried the berry or chocolate, they're made with flavors and not the real thing, vanilla flavoring is one thing I find acceptable.  http://kuranutrition.com/

12. Spice blends are a dime a dozen, but this one is totally novel and completely addictive.  They've powdered blue cheese and blended it with blackening spices to create an umami bomb of flavor.  The cheesiness tamps the heat, but they both exhibit a powerful contribution.  Immaculate on popcorn, brussels sprouts, catfish or steak.  My mouth just starting watering.  Again.

And that's it!  Hope to see you next year!

Wednesday, July 1, 2015


I should've known this was going to be a good one, deemed the only French restaurant my very French friend will dine at here in New York.  Granted, he is Lyonnaise, and Benoit is tres Parisienne, but it turned out to be all I had hoped for and more.  But it's been around awhile and no one really talks about it...  but then again, it's been around awhile, which definitely in this fickle real estate and economic climate says something.  It is nestled into an unassuming stretch of west 55th street, right next to Bar Milano- which is always packed on such clear, breezy summer nights as was this one.  It doesn't have the luxury of outdoor seating for such occasions, but a whimsically painted sky on the ceiling offers a touch of levity indoors.  Chef Phillipe Bertineau holds reign over Alain Ducasse's New York iteration of his mini-chain of Benoits.  It has all the pomp and nostalgia of classic French cuisine paired with a lighter touch and glimmers of modernity that maintain the restaurant's illustrious appeal.

Red velvet banquettes and etched glass, sparkly chandeliers and low, glowy lighting prevail.  Waiters are handsomely suited, warm  and welcoming.  The wine list is no tome, but it is one thoughtfully curated list.  They have a well-rounded variety both by the glass and bottle, and more importantly, a selection of "by the ounce" option made possible by a state-of-the-art dispensing system, allowing for the sampling of some otherwise out-of-budget treasures.  I splurged on a few ounces of a white Latour, which at $9/oz. was the cheapest options, whereas a full glass (which is rare to find) would then have been easily over fifty dollars, and some of
 the offerings were almost  that costly for even just one ounce (such
 as the '91 Y'quem) .  I was happy for just a daub, as this one was a profound wine, intense and mature, whereas my normal preferences tend more fresh and floral.   All the same, I was impressed by the experience.

A small silver bowl of fragrant gougeres are bequeathed to each table, melting clouds of pungent cheese, their tantalizing aroma a compelling appetite-provoker alone.  In fact, all the perfumes of the kitchen were enticing, and plentiful, which made deciding what to order somewhat more difficult, but also pretty much guaranteeing satisfaction.  Even as appealing as were the rainbow beets with goat cheese and my adored mache, I couldn't pass up that ephemeral opportunity for morels, from Oregon, to boot!
 Deemed a "cookpot", a generous crock of spelt stewed with gloriously meaty morels and enormous favas were anointed
tableside with verdant spring pea coulis and topped with a leafy tuft of fresh greens, featuring notably flavorful, tangy and pleasantly bitter leaves amongst others sweet or frilly.  Easily shareable, although I hardly wanted to.  I mean, at ALL.  Morels are spelled with "more" for a reason, after all.  (Ha.)

The entrees have a lot of variety while still adhering to traditional bistro offerings.  There were several fishes, a few poultry renditions, and meat options from tartare to T-Bone.  I chose an exceptional golden tilefish, and while I was not even really familiar with the fish,  as it was described by our waiter it sounded ideal- and lived up.  The thick filet, similar to cod, was assertively smoked which  enhanced its firm texture and elevated the sweet flaky flesh.  Its sliver of silvery skin attained the Platonic ideal of crispness atop.   Plated atop a raft of delicate white asparagus and a gently smooth lemon mousseline (I opted out of the urchin- I know... I need to become more adventurous), novelly and more seasonally garnished with sprigs of purslane rather than predictable parsley.  Hangar steak with
excellent  frites aside couldn't have been more expertly done, even if we did suffer waiting for the medium-cooked steak we received to be replaced with the medium-rare one requested.  But aside from the delay, the steak was lusciously rich and flavorful, the bordelaise accompanying multiplying those qualities exponentially.  Seriously, I even put it on my fish.  That sauce I could've mainlined.  Nary a daub of ketchup or mayonnaise provided was needed to  augment the impeccable fries, but they too found a fine  bedfellow in that sauce.
A simple side of broccoli was a lovely sautee, brilliant green and assertively garlicked, but I even couldn't restrain myself from dipping a few of the florets in the bordelaise as well... was really that wondrous.

The only thing that wouldn't have benefited from a drizzle of that sauce were the next courses to arrive, as we moved on to a sweet finale.  My tablemate had had his eye set on the profiteroles from reservation time, so his order took no contemplation.  And mine was nearly as automatic, as I jumped upon my first rhubarb of the season.   For that, the batons of piefruit retained enough firmness to be arranged into a bed for the a luscious mascarpone sorbet, studded with juicy morsels of strawberry and a few crisp, freeze-dried ones with a delightfully crunchy texture that melted on the tongue.  I loved this dessert as much as I have any in recent history, the rhubarb sweetened just enough to tamp its alluring, pucker-worthy tang.   The profiteroles, too, were honorable, although for my own taste, I prefer bigger ones with greater filling
 potential than these single-bites nuggets.   But the were golden and toasty orbs, bursting a gush of luxurious cream with the bittersweet chocolate sauce, that boasted the heady, cocoa-heavy richness typical of Valrhona.  The profiteroles, in fact, are for two, but my tablemate polished off the entire plate himself but for the one I stole... in his assessment, the best examples of this iconic sweet in  New York.  As we left, I was gifted a mystery treat in a small, folded paper bag.  Assuming it was a breakfast morsel, I opened it the next morning with my coffee, only to discover a plain, featherweight meringue.  I wasn't quite sure what to do with it... I don't eat such sweets for breakfast, and for as dessert it certainly wanted for some fresh strawberry compote or even a dollop of jam.  Ideally, I would've replicated the rhubarb, but that was probably beyond my capabilities.  I guess it should've come with a little recipe of what-to-do with this puffy-sweet cloud, but luckily I had some wild hibiscus flowers in syrup that had also been wondering what to do with.  So it ended well, actually a pleasant surprise quite in keeping with the prior evening's repast at Benoit.

60 West 55th Street - New York 
tel.  646.943.7373