THE MARY LANE

Don’t go Google-mapping Mary Lane as some obscure street in Manhattan you’ve never heard of. Power-team Mike Price (The Clam, Market Table) and Joey Campanaro (The Little Owl) of Blackfoot Hospitality recently opened up The Mary Lane in the West Village, which is rife with non-numerical streets, but The Mary Lane is named after an heirloom varietal of fig, not some quaint off-the-beaten path path.

Located at 99 Bank Street, this address has historically incurred a high turnover rate, with even such reputable chefs as Harold Dieterle and Harold Moore, who were unable to make a go of it here. This should not be the case with The Mary Lane, however, as Blackfoot Hospitality has an almost unblemished success rate, and their concept for and execution of this new venture are completely en pointe both with the neighborhood, what is trending now in the current dining scene, and pretty much every element of what constitutes The Mary Lane. 

The team had been looking for a place in which to expand their empire since fall of 2019, and arrived upon the 99 Bank Street address particularly since they “like corners in the West Village,” notes Price. Then the pandemic hit, and their progress slowed significantly, but they used the time to finesse and hone their vision. For the name, they had originally they tossed around iterations of fig varietals, in different languages, etc., but arrived upon the succulent eponymous species of fig and knew they’d found a winner. Both feminine and naturalistic, they determined the power of the fig to be a perfect balance for the two men at the helm. And while the restaurant is in no way fig-themed, they expect to utilize the luscious fruit for inspiration, at least seasonally. Right now, chef de cuisine Andrew Sutin has imagined pancetta-wrapped figs saltimbocca, kind of a devils-on-horseback riff, and a fig tart for dessert, both of which would be tough to argue with in any season.

As for the rest of the menu, Price and Sutin have conceived of a vegetable-forward, seasonal American menu.  We started with a terrific mushroom tartare, a fine dice of lightly marinated king trumpets topped with crispy slices of sunchoke and a flurry of herbs... really delightful.  

Heartier on the vegetables front were the vadouvan roasted carrots nestled into a bed of pumpkin seed hummus, studded with pepitas and Bulgarian feta.  We chose a vegetarian entree to share as well, and it may have been the highlight of the evening:  a pavé of sweet potato, kale, and roasted mushroom layered with ricotta, just bursting with autumnal goodness, and a rich swath of charred onion soubise to bolster the umami.

But omnivores too will not be disappointed. Price said the he had developed a strong, long-standing relationship with Ottomanelli Butchers (also nearby on Bleecker Street) in his other ventures, appreciating and reciprocating their loyalty and commitment as suppliers, especially throughout the pandemic. He will enthusiastically continue relying on their expertise and pride of product as their meat purveyors. That said, even the meatiest of entrees, like a rosemary braised pork loin, is balanced with a luscious house-made sauerkraut featuring market-fresh caraflex cabbage, and it might be the cauliflower and braised baby fennel with roasted Mutsu apples alongside a pristine filet of Hudson Valley steelhead trout that make it so good.  

Nova Scotia halibut, seared golden, takes advantage of late-season grapes to add sweetness to a saute of hon shimeji mushrooms... another favorite of the evening.  A better-than-basic New York strip featured some outstanding onion rings.... gone before the meat was: another testament to Sutin's proficiency with produce.

 

  

And as goes without saying, I can never pass up the brussels sprouts, although to be honest these were the least noteworthy dish of the night- slightly underdone and thus a little bitter and raw tasting, especially with the well-cooked bits of squash that adorned them.  They seemed like they didn't get equal footing in the oven, but needed it. 

 

Their creativity, and loyalty, is likewise funneled into the design of the restaurant. They utilized Alta Indelman, an industry icon who created the unique interior of The Clam and its gorgeous vaulted ceiling of glittering seashells. Colorful artwork adorns the deep blue walls, including a vibrant painting by Steven Fragale mounted just past the long cherry wood bar, playfully lit by orb-shaped lamps suspended from the ceiling. The painting has augmented reality features that provide 3-D perspectives when used in conjunction with your smartphone, adding to the intrigue.  Even the lights on each table, miniature lamps atop spindly stems, are fun to play with, altering the light intensity by touching the base (which also helps for menu visibility, and then dimming it more moodily when precision reading is no longer necessary.)

We skipped dessert having filled up too heartily on the savories, which is a pity, really, because they had a rustic apple pie on offer that night as a special, probably carried over from Thanksgiving, but the pear and quince crisp with oat streusel and ginger gelato was equally, if not more, tempting.  But my tablemates were vying for the chocolate cake with espresso buttercream, and lacking consensus, we opted out.  Which, as is so often the case, gives me an excuse, among all the other wonders of T.M.L.,  to go back.  

99 BANK STREET

Tel. (212) 597-9099

ORSAY

Somewhere around 2:45pm

 
The first association I had when I was invited to brunch at Orsay was the Musée in Paris.  And this wasn't too far off, as it definitely had a bit of a museum feel to it.  Orsay, a classic Parisian-style brasserie, has to be one of the older restaurants in New York.  Even the clock above the door was stopped in time: although they say even a broken clock is correct twice a day, it was not correct for us at any point since our brunch reservation was at 2:30, and we certainly didn't shut the place down long after midnight.  

The whole place seems a bit from another era, waiters in waist coats and bow ties, heavy chandeliers and white tablecloths.   And while other eras aren't necessarily a bad thing, this place definitely seemed a little dated.  The menu is broad enough to provide something you at least like on paper, and I ended up liking my choice much more than my tablemate.

As it was brunch, we didn't dig too deep into the variety of offerings, but I couldn't resist a whole steamed artichoke... too much effort for a single girl dining alone at home, so it was a treat to have.  Pooled in the center was a nicely viscous vinaigrette, although I really just couldn't wait to scrape through the thistly leaves and get to that heart, which is the real prize, although this one was a bit on the mushy side.  Still, I love them so much it was still appreciated.  Alternatively, there most of the classics also on offer: tartare, escargots, a soupe a l'oignon.  So you get the idea.

Entrees toe the same line, and my tablemate went with the steak frites, which I'm not sure he was that thrilled, although he finished it.  I stole some fries, and they were good: piping hot and super crisp, some with bits of skin and nicely tender inside.  Salty in the right way.  I can't vouch for the steak, nor am I a good meat judge, but suffice it to say that as the only thing my tablemate ordered, and his overall appraisal of the restaurant was mediocre, I'll just go with that.  Luckily, my Royal Seabass à la Plancha was quite good... a meaty filet, really nicely cooked with a good crisp skin.  The fennel-potato fondue beneath was rich and lusty, with a well-seasoned tomatoey broth, and the potatoes

 were really yummy: perfectly toothsome.  Potatoes I find often dry or mealy or only good because they were fried, but these were excellent and still exhibited prime spudness.

So when my tablemate asked what I thought of the food I said "very good!"  He said it was okay, but neither of us sampled the other's repast to compare.  He also didn't feel like continuing on with dessert, although I had had my eye on both the île flottante and the tarte tatin, but I guess fortunately was saved the angst of having to decide.  I would guess that those were both things that they would be able to concoct quite successfully.  

It was nearly 4:30pm

So.  Old school French?  Check?  Ambition?  Meh.  Novelty?  Double meh.  I stand with my original association, Le Musée d'Orsay.  Better than the Gare.

                                                                               

1057 Lexington Avenue                                                                         

tel.  212-517-6400

DIVERSION/PDX: EEM

Earl, Eric and Matt have a fine oiled machine in place at EEM, a Thai BBQ and cocktail joint whose name is their initials.  A bit tricky to find on a hybrid residential/business stretch of North Portland sidewalks, you'll certainly know once you're there.  At this point in the height of summertime as well as a devastating spike in Covid cases, Eem's dining operation is entirely outdoors:

 you request a table outdoors, order, fetch your food, eat, and bus your own table all in the sheds constructed streetside of the actual restaurant itself, which now busies itself with food and drink preparation, and kind of a bunk for the staff hustling about to make this whole thing work.

And work it does, and Portlanders aren't ignorant of this.  We arrived at what we thought would be a line-avoidant early hour (around 5pm) but even at that time, there was a predicted hour long wait (which turned out to be even slightly longer than that).  But the hostess shuffled us off to a sort of hipster neo-dive bar, with kitschy picnic tables set out out front to share some libations and bask in the glorious midsummer sunshine in which we were lucky to partake.  

They'll text you when your table becomes available, and it will be covered in audacious floral print vinyl.  Menus are accessible via QR: I hesitate to say they are maybe being too Covid-cautious (because truly: is that possible?) but suffice it to say that pretty much every viable precaution is being taken here, and quite a few of them really diminished my dining experience, although you gotta take this kind of stuff in stride.

You either have to waltz back up to where you put your name in for a table, or order the whole shebang on your phone. I found this to be less than ideal, but the walk-up option was painless enough.  Because we had some drinks before putting in our food order, it was easier for them to do the math at the register.  Dubbed a Thai restaurant and cocktail bar, they definitely focus mixed drinks over the wines, although they scrounged up an off-menu Maker's, on the rock, for my dad, and there wine list .... well, it exists.  We shared a nice enough rosé; a natural version with a bit of funk and slight effervescence, although nothing I'd come back for.  Given that their list consists of a white, red, a sparkling and a rosé, you get what's offered.   Probably a savvier choice would be one of those cocktails, and looking back, I definitely should have opted for an Aquaberry Dolphin with tequila, rhubarb, lemongrass and grapefruit soda, or an aptly named Shoulda Coulda Woulda, a strawberry-lime gin concoction zipped with chili and tamed with plant milk.  Interesting.

The food is just as provocative, tight as the menu is.  Divided into Curries and Not Curries, we opted for three of the former- the White with brisket, cauliflower and burnt ends, the Green with crispy pork (which wasn't at all crispy) and the vegan Red with smoked cabbage, studded with chunks of king oyster mushroom and a slick of sesame.  Although our server raved about the very popular Krapao with its pork belly, holy basil and fried egg, we are not big belly fans.   We did, however, opt for the wok-fried greens which honestly might have been my favorite thing of the night.  Spanked with garlic and perfectly sautéed with soy and chili, they were dark and luscious foliage amidst their pretty rich and starchy brethren.

You see, EEM is kind of rice-eaters paradise: it seemed to me that the point of the food is kind of saucing the rice, rather than holding its own.  Now at this point, because of the whole outdoor-dining/Covid-restrictions scenario, all the food arrived at our table on a plastic tray like you'd get at a Denny's, or a hospital, for that matter.  The utensils are individual packs of fork/spoon/knife/napkin in a little eco-baggy, and all the food arrives in plastic pint soup containers with complementary Chinese-takeout boxes of perfumed sticky rice.    

Surprisingly, my favorite was the White Curry, c/o Matt, with its brisket and burnt ends.  A richer dish than those to which I normally gravitate, but this was worth the indulgence.  The Green Curry with pork purports to include roasted vegetables, but all I found lurking in the milky olive-green broth was the same roasted cauliflower as came with everything we ordered, so the only differentiation is the protein and the fieriness of the curries.  Otherwise, there wasn't quite enough to make one stand out heads or toes against the other.  All were delicious.  All tasted of spicy, coconutty curry.  The Red Curry (vegan) did have smoky notes and a hint of sesame, and some nubs of king oyster mushroom (although in my opinion not enough).  All the curries, in their plastic pints, were, I would say, 80% sauce, so the rice is to be taken advantage.  Our Not-Curry, the Wok-Fried greens, 

were a garlicky delight, slicked in oil and deep green.... I think they were collards, if my recollection holds true.  Many tables also sported baskets of fried chicken, which you could order half or whole orders, and with the brothiness of the curries, I wish we would've subbed one of them out in favor of some poultry.  It looked divine, with a crinkly, crackly crust and just a gorgeous burnished hue.  

No desserts on hand, so either treat yourself to a cocktail that you missed upon entry, as did I.  Talk about Shoulda Woulda Coulda... there were a few elements of that sentiment throughout the meal.  But for the most part, Eem is must more Gift than Curse (another of their kitschy tipples), especially at their very reasonable prices.  That said, it's absolutely a casual grab-grub kind of destination than a fancy date-night one, so taper your expectations accordingly, at least until we can use proper metal utensils and not have to bus our own table upon finishing, which is a desultory way to end an otherwise fun and unique meal.

3808 NORTH WILLIAMS AVENUE

 tel. 971-295-1645    EEMPORTLAND@GMAIL.COM

BARBOUNIA

 Barbounia is no newcomer.  And it wasn't so much the chef that drew me here as the consistently full-house dining room, spilling out onto the sidewalks, even before the pandemic presented that as the only option for a spell.  In fact, the website states the proprietor as the source of direction rather than the chef, Amitzur Mor.  I have to say that may have been a clue to the outcome of the meal, which was satisfying and tasty, but not particularly memorable.

The room is pretty huge.  Underlit archways span across the ceilings, along with the aftermath of some undetermined party decorations.. perhaps balloon string, that never got removed after the festivities.  There is a large mural of a classically stoic Karl Lagerfeld on the west wall, big ceiling fans spinning languidly above.  The room was nearly filled upon our early arrival, and only got busier throughout the evening, so they're definitely doing something right.

Indicative of that was my choice of wine, indisputably the highlight of the night.  A gorgeous Gavi di Gavi , the nose of which sang of summer, the body pungent with strawberries and floral notes.  It was a spectacular summer quaff, if perhaps not that food friendly given it fruitiness, but that was more than all right, because it was mostly gone by the time our first plates arrived.  

We started off with a lusty eggplant dip, fire-roasted into a softly plush mash, electrified with tahini and zchug (sic), my latest favorite sauce, pureed into a smooth hummus-y nest.  It was fantastic plunged into with the stretchy flatbread crusted with flaky

 sea salt that arrived with our appetizers.  Actually, the bread was just great in its own right, piping hot, with a salty, toasty crust protecting its steaming, chewy interior.   

Crunchy falafel balls paired well with the both of these, distinctively garbanzo-y and plunked into a bed of tahini, pickly cornichons and a sprinkle of sumac adding some welcome zip.  

Now, my recollection of Barbounia (or association, as it were, having never been before) was that it originally began as a seafood-centric restaurant, but it has morphed into a pan-Mediterranean one, with a much broader menu, including lamb kofta, taboon-roasted chicken and a handful of beef dishes, including a short rib tagine with preserved lemon that would've sounded a lot better in weather about twenty or thirty degrees cooler than early August was bestowing upon Manhattan.  So my vegetarian tablemate opted for a dainty roasted cauliflower as an entree, although its urfa pepper glaze and smattering of earthy pinenuts gave it a lot of oomph.  There is a pan-roasted halibut on their website that isn't currently on offer, unfortunately, because it seemed to have a lot more personality than my whole branzino, 

which was perfectly fine but mostly forgettable.  Actually, the little pan fried zucchini that accompanied had a slightly off flavor, like they were maybe precooked and carried over from yesterday (or the day before?), but the broccolini was better, and the meaty cut of skin-on fish nicely cooked.  I could have used a larger dose of the preserved lemon and salsa verde upon which it was plated, but it parsed out well nonetheless.   A side of sauteed wild mushrooms was an excellent preparation, although probably unnecessary with the vegetable components of the meal already being sufficient.

Desserts left more to be desired, for me, at least.  Literally just a stone's throw (with a strong arm) from the farmer's market at Union Square, any seasonal fruit options (aside from some token berries) was noticeably lacking. Had our appetites not been fairly sated , I would've gone with the silan, a tahini (also perhaps having had enough tahini) mousse with halva and spiced milk ice cream.  There was also beignets, a nutty panna cotta, labneh cheesecake and a peanut-butter chocolate concoction for those who seem to need a gateway back to America via the dessert offerings after a very European repast.  I suppose I too might be among them, left wanting for a peach cobbler or strawberry shortcake.

Anyway, I get Barbounia's popularity for what it is.  There's nothing too challenging here, and even the more uncommon ingredients are imparted with a conservative hand. Would I recommend it?  Probably not without qualifiers.  Nor would I steer most people clear.  There's room for improvement, but regardless,  Barbounia is still a pleasant affair.

250 Park Avenue South

tel (212)995-0242

BALABOOSTA

 

I try to make deciding the restuarant destination a joint effort: i"ll give a five or so deep lit to my tablemate and we'll narrow it from there.  Balabooosta has been on those lists since it was opened.... an entirely different locaiton, in fact, over in the East Village.  

But then it moved to the West Village, replacing Bar Bolonat, chef Einat Admony's other restaurant, where I had dined previously.  So technically I'd been there without actually having been HERE, to Balaboosta itself. 
 

Chef Admony is certainly one to follow... she's got cookbooks galore and a media presence, frequently mentioned in culinary news and featured events.  It's a wonder it took me so long to get here, since Middle Eastern food ranks up there with some of my favorite flavors.  I had very much enjoyed Bolonat.  

Our visit began with temperature checks and the donning of vaccination cards, but after that it felt pretty back-to-normal, barring that servers continued masked.  One thing that stood out as ABnormal (but in the best possible way) was out memorably pert and charismatic server, who actually became one of the best parts of our visit.  

Not to brush off the food: our first dish was marvelous.   Roasted eggplant, smoky and plush, bucked like a bronco with  garlic and zesty togarashi, nestled into a sultry smear of tahini.  The cauliflower, on the other hand, was less successful, its florets covered in a tough, chalky breading recalling petrified wood.  Lemon bamba and a pickle crumble tried to elevate the leaden character, and the florets suffocating inside were tender enough, but not distracting enough to salvage the dish.  

The food is boldly flavorful, so I thought perhaps an appetizer portion of octopus could do for an entree.  It was sufficient, size-wise, combined with a side for a delicate appetite, and the flavors profound enough to provide satisfaction, but the was quite a bit of gummy, fatty tissue on the tentacle, which I found off-putting.  I suppose some people don't mind a little cartilage or gristle on a rustic cut of meat... this adding texture and intrigue.  But to my taste it wanted for a cleaner trim.

My vegetarian tablemate vacillated between a seasonal pasta and cabbage stuffed with freekah, opting for the former.  I would've advocated for the latter, seeming a little more true to the genre, but I will not dictate what others get to eat.  And I enjoyed my stolen bites of floppy papparadelle, studded with fresh market peas and brightened with Persian lime.    He wasn't as thrilled, but I feel like that was more the monotony of a pasta dish that is a bountiful portion.  For my sake, at least, after four or five big forkfuls of a noodle I'm craving a new texture/flavor/nutrient.  

Dessert, on which we opted out, was comprised of three choices, all of which seemed a little heavy and starchy.  I recall a churro variation and perhaps a creme brulée?  But the food, while good, was perhaps a little short of expectations, and the night was balmy and clear, making an amble outside a more attractive activity than any of the sweets that presented.   But the restaurant still lived up to its name: Balaboosta is a Yiddish term for the ur-housewife and mother, and even if our choices of Chef Admony's cuisine that night didn't maybe entirely measure up, our server merited the title.

212-390-1545

info@balaboostanyc.com

611 Hudson StreetStre

NOREETUH

 

I followed my own advice here, inspired by the enthusiasm of my most trusted chef source to lead me to Noreetuh. First chance I had after it came on my radar, I jumped at a reservation.... not easy to procure.  I didn't even look at the menu.  Day of, I did.  And I barely saw anything that appealed to me, but said difficult reservation already procured and plans confirmed, I decided to just go with the flow.  Maybe it was the Hawaiian island spirit that swayed me, but mahalo I did.  Because Noreetuh is fanTAStic.

  Casual, vibey and energetic, it still has a polished feel.  It feels typical East Village, as the room is pretty small, dominated by the attractive back lit bar, and decorated with Hawaiian paraphernalia, polaroids of guests and frondy greenery.  We were seated a smidge before our reservation time, having both arrived a little early in anticipation of getting back to the good old times, pre-Covid.  No masks, indoors, no palpable weirdness.  The only nod that could have been attributed to the blight was QR codes for the extended wine list by the bottle (cocktails and by-the-glasses were on the back of the food menu, thankfully.). The wine list is exceptional, the by-the-bottle list is pages long, and shows a real knowledge and variety, unsurprising given the proprietor's background in fine dining.  This place might look like trendy stoner food, but it far exceeds that (although honesty it could play both hands... we didn't delve into the musubi portion of the menu, mostly due to my seaweed aversion, but those, and some sandos could definitely sate a case of the munchies).  My by-the-glass Vermentino, though, kept up with the depth of the wine list, and there are some fun cocktails to boot, all with nods to the island.  

And that food menu was extensive, and even bulked up more given it is currently Restaurant Week (read; month/s), so there was a very nicely curated prix fixe availabile.  I actually don't usually like the prix fixe, but there was one entree on it here that I wanted more than anything on the main menu, and they weren't amenable to allowing ordering individual plates from the prix fixe as à la carte.  So I went for it, opting for some luscious truffle wontons with ham hock and pickled sunchokes.  For some reason, in my mind, I was expecting a mushroom filling, even though the menu specified the ham... I was thinking truffled 'shrooms sauteed with pork, I guess.  That said, it

 was hard to be disappointed with these meaty morsels, plump with juicy meat and perfumed with truffles.  There were, too, some tasty little enokis tucked between them, so I didn't miss out on my mushrooms entirely.  My tablemate opted for a crudo, the big eye tuna poke. Its chunks of fish were so vibrant they looked like cherry tomato halves, flavored with fragrant sesame oil and crunchy nubs of macadamia nut. 

 

We opted for a few dishes off the Restaurant Week menu as well, 'cause I couldn't forgive myself if I bypassed the Caramelized Cone Cabbage, slathered in (perhaps a little too much) chipotle mayo and crunched with puffed rice.  I love a good,  slutty vegetable, and this one lived up in every sense, without losing the sweet, slippery cabbage roasted tender beneath.  Another winner were the Spanish octopus skewers, somehow magically wrapped in five-spiced bacon that had almost become one with the octo, not crunchy but not flaccid or rubbery.  It somehow reached a magical consistency and adhesion with the cephalopod, fused into one glorious bite. They were interspersed with charred green onion, and plated with some nice, pickly cabbage.

For a main (as described above), I went with that mochi-crusted fluke, a beautiful piece of snowy white fish with a perfectly crunchy, golden crust atop, bedded in long beans and lily bulbs nestled into a mild red pepper puree.  I wished the puree had a little more zip, because the dish came across a bit bland, even despite the excellent preparation of the fluke.  

The garlic shrimp bowl suffered none of that, the rice and the shrimp battling each other for most flavorful, boldly garlicky and wonderfully textured.  There a nine main course options on the Restaurant Week menu alone, and eleven on the regular menu, so there is a LOT to choose from.  Variety is not a scarcity, so even if you don't know quite what you're getting yourself into with a Hawaiian restaurant, you'd be hard pressed not to end up with something memorably delicious.

Desserts followed suit, for the most part, decadent and rich, although there was lighter bruleed Hawaiian pineapple that I actually wished I would've tried, in retrospect.  The best one was the Chocolate Haupia sundae, a chewy, fudgy chocolate-coconut pudding with an onslaught of weightless whipped cream impaled by crisp shards of graham cracker wafers.  I figure this is kind of a deconstructed Hawaiian take on s'mores, and all the better for it.   

Just as lusty was a macadamia nut brownie sided with a cool scoop of coconut ice cream.  The brownie was so dense and fudgy it just about fell through the plate, but chocophiles rejoice: either of these two will evoke bliss.  Less successful was the mango and pandan pie, a gorgeous bicolor wedge topped with scrumptious, crunchy sweet puffed rice and layered atop a buttery, flaky crust, but the mango lacked pucker, it was more the color orange than the flavor of anything, and the pandan had a strangely oceanic taste, as if they used a seaweed-based gelling agent to achieve that excellently wiggly texture.  It would've been great had the mango displayed its typical vibrancy, but something got a little muted.

But that was all that was nit-pickable; Noreetah's got it going on, for sure.  Fun soundtrack, attentive and friendly servers, and a lot of know-how behind the scenes.   Just like the islands themselves, genuine hospitality,  a little bit exotic, and glimmers of magic throughout.

 128 First Avenue b/w  7th St and St. Marks

tel. 646. 892.3050