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.
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
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