 Wayan is so good I kept forgetting what was happening in the world. Midway through dinner, when I excused myself to use the ladies room, I forgot to remask upon entering the dining room, as if the whole al fresco dining situation had been a choice and not an ultimatum. Our server could not have been more hospitable, smiling and gracious and actually said straight out what a pleasure it was to work there. I think he is not alone, and this happy workplace informs the whole staff’s comportment, which in turn, makes it a really lovey place to visit. And that sentiment must also carry over into the kitchen, or more likely, blossom from it, because there is love in this food, and sheer deliciousness. Cedric has apparently learned well from his father, and maybe even taken it a step further with this solid and superb take on Indonesian flavors.  A fresh heirloom tomato salad sang of summer, and while not the most revolutionary dish it was wildly tasty, peak produce, each tomato varietal boasting its own unique flavor, and a refreshing, zingy chili-garlic vinaigrette enhanced with sesame. We came to a consensus on our favorite dishes, one of which was an exceptional octopus, two fat tentacles roasted ’til the tips achieved a bacon-like crispness. They sat on a bed of richly sweet hunks of roasted fennel bulb zipped up with a sweet chili sauce. Hiramasa (Amberjack) sashimi was simple and light, graced with a ginger-tumeric dressing kicked up with sambal. 
A half head of cauliflower was roasted to just the verge of softness, still resisting the knife but tender enough to acquiesce, thickly coated with curry and spices so as not to need the kicky little pitcher of saffron-yellow curry sauce that came along for the ride, but it was nice to alternate bites with mini-surges of heat. Crisp niblets of corn and sprigs of cilantro kept it fresh, and don't forget to squeeze that lime assertively over the whole shebang. .
 The other dish we all loved was the hake, salty enough to recall the ocean from which is came, meltingly tender underneath a savory tomato concasse and flanked with an array of summery patty pan squash, those little UFOs of the zucchini world, and a few chewy nubs of okra We shared everything we ordered, but the whole roasted fish was the only thing too big for a single diner. This sizable black bass (whom we named Fernando) was an textbook example of a perfectly roasted whole fish, flaky-fleshed and succulent, although the steamed broccoli accompanying seemed a bit of an afterthought; it wasn't even on the menu, and while I'm never one to turn down an extra vegetable, this one could’ve been either slightly more cooked or seasoned in some way. Thick slices of Gold bar squash lived up to its name, and was more interesting. 
Desserts wanted for something more refreshing: the only fruit option was a banana sundae that read more cake than split, with its ube ice cream accompaniment. There is also an pandan custard and, in a divergence from the tropics, a cast iron cookie served with buttermilk ice cream. I would've rather an exotic fruit pudding or, maybe as a riff from his dad's playbook, a molten pineapple upside down cake.
But Wayan renewed my zest to start back on the restaurant exploration circuit. I hope as restaurateurs figure out this whole new world of hospitality that more restaurants like Wayan follow suit. If anyone needs a how-to tutorial on dining during Covid19, make a Resy here. I couldn't have been more impressed.  |
Thursday, July 30, 2020
WAYAN
Wednesday, July 29, 2020
CHAMA MAMA
Boy, am I out of practice. I'm not even sure the very choice of the restaurant itself wasn't somewhat faulty. In retrospect, homestyle Georgian cuisine is probably not the optimum choice for the hottest calendar month in New York, compounded by the fact that the airy, cool enclaves of interior dining are marshaled off for the foreseeable future. It would be the first time I'd dined out since the pandemic hit, though, and a lot of factors played into finding somewhere that I'd feel safe, that I desired to visit, had a broad and intriguing enough menu, and was protected from as many of the indignities outdoor dining in a huge metropolis inevitably presents.
Chama Mama was on my list long before any murmurs of viruses and ventilators, basically since it opened, and it was one of the first to pivot into takeout and delivery despite its youthfulness (or maybe because of it). It also covets the luxury of an outdoor patio, a prized commodity, especially while its main dining room must be shuttered. You will pass through it briefly, in its echoey, air-conditioned emptiness, to exit into a well laid-out back garden, festooned with string lights, responsibly distanced tables, and a plethora of leafy growing things. A small patch of vegetables and herbs beside our table also
doubled as an unintentional menagerie of tiny baby mice, thankfully still in their miniature, nascent stages so they looked cute rummaging through the celery and lovage. Resultantly, I suppose I hope that vegetation is more for show than culinary use, although with all we've been through of late, there are much scarier things to be exposed.
Onto the food, Chama Mama still enlists paper menus, much to my relief because I still have never gotten around to downloading the QR code app. The menu seemed much as I remembered it from pre-pandemic, but my knack for ordering well had definitely rusted over. Either that or most offerings here exhibit a very similar flavor profile: those "Georgian spices" are the connective tissue of the menu. Not that that is an entirely bad thing, because the flavors are very good. But our repast was a bit monochromatic, down to the nearely-ubiquitous pomegranate seed garnish, but that also was at least in part due to my tablemate's quasi-veganism.
The food came out rapidly, just after our beverage selections. The wine list is strictly Georgian, and completely mystifying to anyone not well-versed in such (so, probably just about everyone). I chose one of two rosés, which I'm not sure she ever specified which I got, nor did I get the taste I thought she said she would bring. At any rate, I don't know if it was just that varietal, but it wasn't great. A bit funky and flat, albeit a lovely deep pink, and as the first alcohol I've imbibed in four months, my bar was low and I decided it was just fine.
Our first dish was a small crock of roasted mushrooms, none of which attained the ideal crisp-edgedness I always hope for with anything roasted, but it was a tasty hodgepodge of fungi and a few strips of red pepper, there was some cilantro and garlic involved. Of the two eggplant appetizers, we went with the smokey walnut-paste version and studded with crunchy bits of them, although I think I might have preferred the tomato-inflected rendition, from on-paper. But I was thoroughly in the realm of letting someone else do ALL the work, ordering included, and kind of gave my tablemate the reins. And don't get me wrong, it was good: I just like tomatoes and eggplant.... that tag-team of nightshades.
A decidedly un-summery selection was the Lobio with in a clay-pot, a steaming soupy blend of toothsome beans capped with a sort of dry, crumbly corn pone and an assortment of picky tidbits beneath. It was listed under "Sharable" plates, but soup is always a weird one to share, even outside of a pandemic, and most certainly within one. It also was just too hot and starchy for a muggy summer night, so if you really want to try this, hold out 'til the temperatures are more conducive.
My favorite dish was probably a fry-up of potatoes and (more) mushrooms, again with those Georgian spices, served with a freshly sour green plum sauce, and a chewy, floury ficelle I wish would've arrive with the Lobio or that eggplant dip. Again, shoddy ordering- no fault of theirs. In fact, some of the most popular dishes we didn't try, mostly due to the heat and their heft. The Imeruli Kachapuri definitely would've been on the docket had we been in breezy a.c., but the molten cheesy loaf just seemed unappealing under the circumstances. Same for the Elarji with mint yogurt, another cheesy concoction anchored by grits.
Pudgy dumplings (Khinkali) filled with scallions and mushrooms had thick, chewy encasements: sturdy and substantial despite their lack of meat. But mushrooms had kind of lost their intrigue at that point, and I wished I would've ordered a chicken skewer with grilled vegetables, or even the dumplings with beef and pork instead. Ultimately, too, it turned out to be a starchier repast than that to which I am used to, and dessert at that point seemed redundant. On offer is a sweet layered honey cake, a cream-filled Napoleon and Pelamushi, a grape pudding (which I actually don't recall seeing that night,
but I kind of wish I had). Our server was sweet enough to offer us a complimentary finale, however, a mason jar of pillowy tart yogurt with jammy cherries, which was very good, if not a little more in the breakfast category for me than dessert. But the evening was coming to a close... fluffy clouds started roll in although the humidity remained, and I for one can only take so
much lolling around in such swampy air. We were again ushered through the vacant dining room, its airy coolness a convincing reminder to come back to Chama Mama once indoor dining resumes.
149 WEST 14TH STREET 646-438-9007
Chama Mama was on my list long before any murmurs of viruses and ventilators, basically since it opened, and it was one of the first to pivot into takeout and delivery despite its youthfulness (or maybe because of it). It also covets the luxury of an outdoor patio, a prized commodity, especially while its main dining room must be shuttered. You will pass through it briefly, in its echoey, air-conditioned emptiness, to exit into a well laid-out back garden, festooned with string lights, responsibly distanced tables, and a plethora of leafy growing things. A small patch of vegetables and herbs beside our table also
doubled as an unintentional menagerie of tiny baby mice, thankfully still in their miniature, nascent stages so they looked cute rummaging through the celery and lovage. Resultantly, I suppose I hope that vegetation is more for show than culinary use, although with all we've been through of late, there are much scarier things to be exposed.Onto the food, Chama Mama still enlists paper menus, much to my relief because I still have never gotten around to downloading the QR code app. The menu seemed much as I remembered it from pre-pandemic, but my knack for ordering well had definitely rusted over. Either that or most offerings here exhibit a very similar flavor profile: those "Georgian spices" are the connective tissue of the menu. Not that that is an entirely bad thing, because the flavors are very good. But our repast was a bit monochromatic, down to the nearely-ubiquitous pomegranate seed garnish, but that also was at least in part due to my tablemate's quasi-veganism.
The food came out rapidly, just after our beverage selections. The wine list is strictly Georgian, and completely mystifying to anyone not well-versed in such (so, probably just about everyone). I chose one of two rosés, which I'm not sure she ever specified which I got, nor did I get the taste I thought she said she would bring. At any rate, I don't know if it was just that varietal, but it wasn't great. A bit funky and flat, albeit a lovely deep pink, and as the first alcohol I've imbibed in four months, my bar was low and I decided it was just fine.
Our first dish was a small crock of roasted mushrooms, none of which attained the ideal crisp-edgedness I always hope for with anything roasted, but it was a tasty hodgepodge of fungi and a few strips of red pepper, there was some cilantro and garlic involved. Of the two eggplant appetizers, we went with the smokey walnut-paste version and studded with crunchy bits of them, although I think I might have preferred the tomato-inflected rendition, from on-paper. But I was thoroughly in the realm of letting someone else do ALL the work, ordering included, and kind of gave my tablemate the reins. And don't get me wrong, it was good: I just like tomatoes and eggplant.... that tag-team of nightshades.
My favorite dish was probably a fry-up of potatoes and (more) mushrooms, again with those Georgian spices, served with a freshly sour green plum sauce, and a chewy, floury ficelle I wish would've arrive with the Lobio or that eggplant dip. Again, shoddy ordering- no fault of theirs. In fact, some of the most popular dishes we didn't try, mostly due to the heat and their heft. The Imeruli Kachapuri definitely would've been on the docket had we been in breezy a.c., but the molten cheesy loaf just seemed unappealing under the circumstances. Same for the Elarji with mint yogurt, another cheesy concoction anchored by grits. 
Pudgy dumplings (Khinkali) filled with scallions and mushrooms had thick, chewy encasements: sturdy and substantial despite their lack of meat. But mushrooms had kind of lost their intrigue at that point, and I wished I would've ordered a chicken skewer with grilled vegetables, or even the dumplings with beef and pork instead. Ultimately, too, it turned out to be a starchier repast than that to which I am used to, and dessert at that point seemed redundant. On offer is a sweet layered honey cake, a cream-filled Napoleon and Pelamushi, a grape pudding (which I actually don't recall seeing that night,
but I kind of wish I had). Our server was sweet enough to offer us a complimentary finale, however, a mason jar of pillowy tart yogurt with jammy cherries, which was very good, if not a little more in the breakfast category for me than dessert. But the evening was coming to a close... fluffy clouds started roll in although the humidity remained, and I for one can only take somuch lolling around in such swampy air. We were again ushered through the vacant dining room, its airy coolness a convincing reminder to come back to Chama Mama once indoor dining resumes.
149 WEST 14TH STREET 646-438-9007
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