THE ORCHARD TOWNHOUSE

I ran into Phil Winser (the co-owner of Silkstone Hospitality) last summer, at the time with his wife, and sporting a Fat Radish hat, one of their restaurants.  Given my affinity for the aforementioned, I struck up conversation with him, having read that they were to open up another Radish in the old Trestle on Tenth space.  He corrected me, in that it would not be another Radish but instead, a new concept..... or at least a new name, bringing the vegetable-forward, farm-to-table ethos that they do so well there, along with the original's street address, but only for the
 sake of its name: The Orchard Townhouse.  From that, they built of a buzzy-but-cozy, neighborhood-friendly but destination-worthy eatery that might be the spark that this area needs since the demise of The Red Cat and Trestle.

Our server could literally not have been more charming and charismatic; any more would've lapsed in to theatrics But as it was, he was absolutely delightful, and set the mood for the entire evening.  The whole vibe of the place is lively and engaging, buzzy but cool, and lowly lit which gives the illuminated areas an enticing glow.









The menu is simply a list, although delineations of category, size and pricing show a pretty obvious progression. There is a nice trio of raw bar options, with local oysters, tuna tartar and  chili-lemon crab on toast.  Beyond that we get a lot of yummy vegetables, not sidelined as accoutrements but spotlit in their own right.  Case in point, we were welcomed with a little amuse-bouche that I initially mistook as octopus, but in fact, it was a small, steamed radish, tender and lightly pickled, and quite delightful.



A super-fave was the mushroom toast- a thick slab of sesame-crusted bread, laden with a tumble of perfectly cooked mushrooms anchored with a smooth, smoky eggplant puree. This could have been the star dish of the night, although many vied for that title.   Romanesco broccoli (or is it cauliflower?) magically held its prehistoric shape and vibrant green while it was cooked into absolute annihilation.  It was so sort it might've been considered "too", although it was a really interesting comfort pabulum, nestled into a milky ricotta enriched with brown butter, a assertively charred lemon plated aside for brightness.  A smattering of crunchy candied almonds gave the only textural contest, and they were enough, if you're okay with really soft-cooked veggies (which , in

 this case, I totally am.  My tablemate was less thrilled.).   Less enthralling was a dish titled Acorn Squash, but it turned out to be a grain salad, cold, and about as appealing as it seems in this picture.  There was nothing technically wrong with it: in a grain bowl aside it would probably be passable, but in the depths of a winter chill, a cold starchy salad is a hard sell. It would've been vastly improved even just served warm, with would've augmented the feta's creamy zip.  Additionally, there wasn't as much squash as there was other stuff, so it was a bit of
 mislead, title-wise, and at $17, not a value.

















The chef sent out a riff on the carrots dukkah, subbing in beets, perhaps because of the delay we incurred while the kitchen  was thrown into the weeds by a sizable party overwhelming their normal efficiency.  It was a great dish, as would be the carrots, I assume, with tender beets nuzzled into spiced yogurt with a kick from a vibrant shies gremolata, and a smattering of crunchy, blistered peanuts.





The largest and most expensive dish, a New York strip at $42, doesn't label itself shareable but it surely would be, especially with a side dish to accompany (it comes unadorned).  And of those, I would highly recommend the brussels sprouts (of course I would), charred savory with lardons, their fat rendered out to a meaty chew, a bit of pecorino for even more umami, a hint of crunch from toasted walnuts and some appley sweetness. I mean, who needs the steak?



Another big plate was an utterly simple 7 oz. filet of halibut, gorgeous bronzed on top and impeccably tender beneath.  Served with just lightly dressed, crunchy greens and another wedge of charred lemon, its satisfaction belies its plain-jane appearance.  Plus, it's a really nice, generous cut so you could add it to a compilation of shares, with enough for two to sample.


Unfortunately, with the aforementioned service hiccup, we were kind of on deadline, (a clock in direct eyeshot across the street reminding us of the increasingly advanced hour) as my tablemate had an untenably early morning meeting distracting her, and we thus bypassed dessert.  Which sucked, because from what I can recall it was basically a play-list of my all-time favorites.  On the other hand, the dessert menu is NOT listed on their website, so at least I can't remind myself of what I missed.  I will have to return, which I gladly will, to complete the full-on OTH experience.  As well should you.

242 10th Ave,

New York, NY 10001 

646 970 5670 

info@theorchardtownhouse.com

PORTALE

Alfred Portale has taken himself down a notch.  Not in ambition, nor humility (he has always been gracious and hospitable) and certainly not in execution. But his newly opened eponymous restaurant is a less lofty affair than was Gotham Bar & Grill, which was inseparable from his reputation for thirty some years.  The only thing that moved up is the new address, five blocks north.  The verticality of plating has grounded

 itself, the high ceiling and airy dining room left on 13th street.  The new restaurant is more Italian, like Portale himself, although the modern art decorating the walls depict iconic Americans, like Lucille Ball and Sinatra (I 'm not particularly a fan of the paintings), implying that it isn't an exclusively Italian restaurant.

Lumache 

That said, the strongest dishes definitely nod Italian.  There is a long list of pastas, handmade in house from locally grown grains, are priced as primi, but eligible to upgrade into larger, main-dish portions.  Most are hearty enough to satisfy even in their more diminutive sizes, like the immaculate lumache, which manages to be both refined and comfortingly nostalgic. Chubby macaroni cradle nubs of short ribs, ground into a pebbly bolognese, unconventional in its lack of tomato, and studded with sweet chunks of roasted squash and fragrant with truffles and parmigiano.   Ricotta Cavatelli al arrabbiata strays from the norm as well, tweaked with a fresh cilantro pesto, while mushrooms fortify the two vegetarians options, a cappellacci with goat cheese and a risotto with spinach and fontina.

Before you get there, though, you'll encounter a roster of cichetti, many of which are substantial enough to comprise, or at least anchor, a full meal.  Maritime crostini are graced with baccala, ruby shrimp and potato, and more seafood star in the fritto misto, with a golden crusted calamari, shrimp and cod served with a lemony aioli.

Our server was suave and accomplished, but super chill and friendly- quite the perfect example of hospitality.  He was also ace on the subject of wines, useful given the list of whites by the glass had a couple of wild cards that piqued my interest.  It may have been the ghost of Pascaline Lepeltir from Route Tomate, the address's prior incarnation, the encouraged me to stray past my go-to selections, but for whatever reason I was feeling experimental, and narrowed its down to an orange and a grillo, neither of which had I ever sampled.  He brought me tastes of both, and I began with the seemingly less foreign of the two, which at least in color was a familiar hue of pale buttercup.  The taste... well, at first I blamed it upon having just mouthwashes, so I swished some water and went on to the orange, which was surprisingly fresh and floral, with just the faintest hint of funk.  Assured now that my palate was untainted, I returned to the grillo, but it only marginally improved.  Verbatim, I assessed that "it tastes like you're sucking on a barnacl."  I guess there are redeeming qualities to "oceanic" notes or a subtle salinity, but this one was overpowering, like brackish backwater murk.  Now, if that appeals to you, by all means go for the grillo.  Not my thing.



Appetizers include a kale salad starched up with pears and quinoa, much like the finocchio, which featured less of the fennel than I would've liked.  It was primarily composed of a chewy riso nerone and juicy, but somewhat flavorless, hunks of blood orange.  Perhaps it was just that the fennel was so expertly roasted, though, that made me want more of it, but it seemed there was a surplus of rice and fruit for a dish titled simply "fennel".

Secondi are more predicable, what one might find in pretty much any upscale, farm-to-table establishment with a thoughtful chef: dry aged sirloin with crispy potatoes and brussels sprouts, a formidable roast chicken with blue corn polenta, and crisply sautéed branzino with delicata squash and red chard (strangely, served
 aside).   I say crisply which actually verged on a fried, achieving a deliciously crisped skin but robbed the svelte filet of some of its delicacy.

Four side dishes (around ten dollars a pop) are on the menu, but although there were Brussels sprouts intended to accompany the steak, they weren't one of those four.  Our server, however, was gracious enough to afford us an off-the-menu treat, rounding out an otherwise somewhat veggie-scarce repast. There are veg components with most dishes, to be fair, but in lesser portions that I would deem ample for my liking.

Five dessert options were presented, fairly simple concoctions but nonetheless tasty for that.  An olive oil cake with orange marmalade, a milk chocolate-updated tiramisu, a classic affogato, a selection of gelati and our choice, the torta di here, which was essentially a caramelized pear upside down tart, its crust treacley sweet, if a tad mealy.... or sandy, might be a better description, as it wasn't entirely off-putting, although noticeable. Cool chunks of pear nestled within were relatively earthy and mild, countering the very rich, sweet and buttery crust; a scoop of mildly maple gelato was also not as sweet, a necessary foil for the deeply caramelized tart.  It was served with a birthday candle, quite unpredictably, since both I and my tablemate are summer babies.  But it was in good keeping with the festive vibe of the place, and I would steer any one else celebrating an occasion here, secure they'd be in good hands, fed well, and treated, even if for no particular reason, like its their birthday.





126 West 18th Street
(917)788-0255