KYMA

The search for an exceptional Greek restaurant in the borough of Manhattan has been elusive for me. There are plenty I have enjoyed, but none so much that I would direct others there, or return voluntarily.  Kyma, a fairly recent newcomer to Chelsea, might have been just a half step above these others, but I had a strange experience there making it a little more difficult to separate the restaurant from the situation.  The room is pretty, to be sure, and well-populated, buoyant in the chattery, lively way of people enjoying themselves, which always improves the energy.  But full disclosure: a lot of my opinions might have been severely affected by a lackluster date situation I was enduring, someone who- unlike any and every and all of my prior tablemates- seemed almost wholly uninterested in the food.  I tried to retain my focus, but let's just say it got tricky.

Especially when he ordered a shrimp cocktail to begin.  You know, those giant crustaceans slung over the rim of a chilled glass filled with cocktail sauce.  Even the best rendition of this isn't a very remarkable dish, nor is it at all Greek.  They were very fresh, to be fair, but this is the stuff of wedding banquets, and require zero consideration from a chef.  My beet salad, on the other hand, was excellent.  Playfully plated with piped dabs of a luciously garlicky skordalia and a flounce of zippy micro greens, it welcomingly sidestepped the obvious goat cheese much to its advantage.  A basket of warm, pliant whole
wheat flatbread was slicked with an herb-flecked oil, and very useful in swabbing up any remaining residue of the skordalia.






The Greek influence was also minimal in a raw shredded Brussels sprouts and kale salad, which was crowned with what turned out to be a barely-warmed egg; undiscernable at first glance, it looked like a blob of translucent burrata or half-gelled whey.  Breaking it open, though, released it
from its shredded wheat nest helped to help lubricate the otherwise sturdy greens.  It was actually a pretty nice salad, undercooked egg notwithstanding, and the kataifi at least nodded Hellenic.   The menu is pretty vast, and by missing explorative opportunities with those shrimp, much of it left unexamined, which may explain some of my discontent.  More interesting sounding options were zucchini fritters with sumac yogurt, or a snacky sounding pan-seared sesame-crusted feta with cranberries and raspberry honey.  Another selection from the starters, a simple grilled octopus with roasted peppers, capers and an onions was stellar, and ample: had it been sided with some accoutrements it would have made for a terrific
 main course, the octopus super fresh and flavorful, if a bit saline, but with a wonderful char and perfect texture.   These, along with a side dish such as the brussels we got, would've made a fine meal.  This veg itself was sautéed with loukaniko, a type of Greek sausage, which was a little mealy, and the sprouts were noticeably
sweet and on the undercooked side, but they were all right, even in their redundancy with the aforementioned salad, but then again I have a lot of leeway with brussels sprouts: give me roasted/sauteed/seared one and I cannot turn it away.




Of entrees, then, we sampled but one, with was a cheffier concoction than the myriad selections of Simply Grilled items from the sea, ranging from daurade to branzino, two types of snapper or swordfish, and crustaceans like lobster or tiger shrimp.  Another advantage here is that all the items are priced per dish, not per pound, so you know what you're getting yourself into.  There were listed eight "Other Specialities", from which I chose pan-seared scallops with poached clams and buttered leeks that formed a creamy, luxurious base with a puree of parsnips, some thin strips of which were gently fried into a delicate garnish.  It was a solid composition, again making me wonder, or actually confirm, that my subtle dismay of the evening had less to do with the restaurant itself, but for the effect that an underenthusiastic dining companion can have on the meal itself.  I think, perhaps, I owe Kyma a second shot.... which would also allow the opportunity for dessert, which was skipped since my "date" called for the check before even our plates from dinner were cleared.  So it was probably a first-and-last for my date, but I'll give Kyma another chance.

15 West 18th Street
tel. 212.268.5555

CROWN SHY

With what might be the best restaurant logo of all time, Crown Shy opened up with a quiet murmur worthy of its arboreal nomenclature.  It is uber-on trend with this name and its references: every book I read seems to involve trees as characters as important as the humans, and I keep hearing musings about how we are just beginning to understand how trees communicate with one another, and that they are much more sentient than perhaps previously acknowledged (if you're confused here, read The Secret Life of Trees, and/or The Overstory).  Alternatively, book a table at Crown Shy, which takes its name from its location in two ways: located at 70 Pine Street among the looming skyscrapers of the Financial District, the term Crown Shy refers to how the canopy of trees of some species never quite touch, remaining just shy of leaf-to-leaf contact, which hypothetically reduces cross-contamination of pests as well as leaving enough sunlight to filter down so that organisms beneath them can thrive.  The lofty buildings of Manhattan can often appear to exhibit this tendency, their penthouses stretching well into the sky, while obviously remaining parallel, their tops seem almost to be approach one another, leaving just slivers of sky to the masses below.  So that logo, stretched from the length of homepage, over the top of the matchbook and down the whole side of the menu is ingenious, and illustrates the creativity, ingenuity, consideration and precision that has been invested in every element of the restaurant.



Aside from the room itself, that is, that shows its very obvious bones of tis predecessors, a corporate banking firm.  The ceilings are lofty, the gangly chandeliers sparse but intriguing, and the room well lit and calm.  It's a landmarked building, too, so perhaps they've done as much as they could to shake the corporate vibe that preceded it.  They certainly made inroads at softening up the interior, the open kitchen helping out in that respect immensely,
especially when enthusiastic huzzahs erupt from the team (I'm not sure what inspired the intermittent cheers, but they did add a levity to the situation).  Still, it has a sort of awkward layout, as well as a labyrinthian path to the restrooms and a sedate ambiance. This latter attribute isn't necessarily negative, though, and it certainly allows the focus to remain on the food.  But as the menu is formatted for sharing, or so it would seem, sometimes the magic of each individual dish gets a little blurred, whereas some of this food might be better appreciated in a tasting menu format.  But that's only because the food is that good, and I don't want you to miss anything.  The Eleven Mad influence can be sensed throughout, the iconic culinary insinuation where Bocuse D'Or winning chef James Kent cooked before partnering with Jeff Katz of Del Posto in this new FiDi venture.




A bronze-crusted tubular-shaped monkey bread welcomed us, sprinkled with pungent seeds, and its cottony-soft interior steaming hot just waiting to melt salt-sprinkled yogurt butter, unctuous and rich, into its tender crumb.  On the contrary, an icy plate of chilled oysters with shiso and cucumber were as fresh
and bracing as could be.  These were from the first section of the menu, intended as snacky type bites, from which we also tried the red snapper crudo, a precision dice of the most pristinely fresh fish kissed with

citrus underneath a thin tuile pressed out of sesame, crisp and nutty.  Beef tartare scented with rye was richer, but a distinct delicacy is preserved with ivory leaves of crisp endive in
 which to scoop it up.  Ivory cones of jicama are arranged in gorgeous furls, creating a ruffled bouquet planted into a salty puree of green chickpeas studded with some left whole and enlivened with fluttery shaving of pecorino.




From the following section of small plates, we
solicited our server to help in deciding between blistered snap peas and an oddly intriguing sounding concoction of charred carrots and clams, of which he guided us to the former, but assured us it wouldn't be excessive to have both.  Which was simply providential, because while those peas were delicious with their wasabi and lime, the carrots were the best dish of the night.  The roots themselves must have had a Brix

measurement that is off the charts, aggressively roasted even sweeter, and then bathed in a foamy, salty age of  chowder, studded with chewy bits of razor clam and a flurry of lemon thyme. It was surprising, novel, unique, and utterly magical.  More char found its way onto hunks of octopus teamed up with chorizo and those hypebeasts of the season, spring ramps.  The flavor of the dish overall was masterful, its ruddy oil pooling beneath robust and fragrant with the young allium, but my tablemates stole all the octopus before I got to it as I was hypnotized with the carrots, so I only tasted the chorizo, which for it's own sake was excellent.  I would guess by the unanimously clean plates that the octopus was just as worthy, and an exquisitely beautiful plate as well.



We ordered so much food, but the bill did not escalate too dauntingly, as it might easily have; the prices up to that point hovered under the twenty dollar mark.  Larger, entree-esque portions stretch up to $59, but that's for a two-person short rib that could easily serve four or more with a smattering from the prior categories.  A whole branzino was gracefully butterflied atop an herby mire smoothed with avocado, and topped with gossamer slices of radish, red, black and white.    The fish was flaky and moist, super fresh and flavorful.  I know most branzino is farmed these days, but either they've nailed the

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I desperately wanted three out of the four listed desserts, but we had really topped ourselves out on the savories.  But honestly, a sticky toffee pudding with apple sorbet, a buttermilk panna cotta or most alluring, the pineapple pavlova each had my name anagrammed across the span of them.  There's also a chocolate tart for the chocophiles (more for you) with a syrupy grape reduction, as well as an assortment of ice creams that could justify a visit on their own: roasted banana with caramel and peanut butter or a divine-sounding satsuma orange with toasted marshmallow.  Take that, Taiyaki.

70 Pine Street
tel.  (212) 517-1932