VIC'S

I had high hopes for Vic's, a market-driven new-ish-comer to Marc Meyer and Victoria Freeman's Cookshop restaurant group.  They're doing all the right things: fresh, farmer-inspired cuisine, friendly service and relaxed, unfussy decor in the comfortable space on Great Jones street that used to be Five Points.  The food is mostly prepared in a wood-burning oven, a delightful trend, by chef Hillary Sterling.  So Vic's has a lot going for it: strong reputation, solid sourcing and a female chef- all of which are assets in my book.  I'm assuming Vic is short for Victoria, and unfortunately like that abbreviation, some of the execution was similarly deficient at times.  Overall, I had a very enjoyable evening and a pleasant repast, although there were some noticeable shortcomings.

Our server, however, was en pointe: chipper and attentive.  We were offered house sparkling or still water immediately, and our orders taken in an unforced but timely manner.  We took her up on the bread that was offered but not automatically dispersed on the table.  I think this is a pretty good thing- for carbophobes, people with actual allergies, tempted dieters, or just those whoe don't need extra starch.  It's less wasteful.  That said, all of ours got devoured: thick, chewy slices with a faint sour and heavy, rustic crust.

The "Mercato" section of the menu featured a bounty of orchard-y treats, but those we chose read better on the menu than they were plated.  Beets, already sweet, had a sugary plum glaze and shreds of crisp raw fennel dusted with a little too much gritty black pepper.  Turnips, which I erroneously assumed would be roasted, were instead raw, fanned out beneath a shroud of robust pecorino grated with a heavy hand.  The mature turnips had a distinct bitterness which led to a powerful flavor rivalry between them, the cheese and a virile classic pesto.  I actually liked
 a bit of the cheese on the beets, and some crisp fennel to moderate the impact of the turnips, but with the very seasonal, rapidly changing menu, you  might have to come up with your own adaptations.


The Pizzas (made with New York state flour) have there own section, and the versions on the table next to us were deliciously fragrant.  The preparations riff on traditional without going too out-there: a little thyme and chili atop a pie with  soppressata and a white pie tinged green with zucchini and green chiles.   And while our neighbors tackles a pie apiece, one could easily be shared for a hearty dinner with a Mercato, Contorni or Antipasto side.  Entrees are similarly generous.   A big hunk of poached cod was delightfully flaky and flavorful, perched atop a bed of tasty kale and cannellini beans, but the beans  were woefully undercooked, giving them a powdery, crumbly quality and didn't allow their starches to properly thicken the broth beneath, which ended up too watery and thin.  While the fish itself was perfection, its underlings needed a little more time to catch up.  Now, for the flank steak we requested it rare, and they made good on that... I'm sure I heard a little mooing when the bushel of cress and peppy, harissa-spiked green
beans were toppled aside.  The exterior had a perfect, smoky-spiced char, and inside was quite possibly the textbook definition of rare.... too much for my tastes, but my tablemate gobbled it down excitedly.  This was good, because it allowed me to steal a few more of the green beans than I otherwise might have been able to: they were stellar- smoky and spicy.   Just for fun, we tried the eggplant and peppers from Contorni.  From what I could tell, any of the Contorni, Mercato and Antipasti could be interchangeable.  Antipasti are more varied and pricey while the other two are primarly vegetable-if-not-vegetarian, but there is definitely overlap.  The
 eggplant was slick and steamy, doing that thing that eggplant does so well, sopping up oil and flavor and using it to its best advantage.  The peppers exhibited unpredictable amounts of heat, the spicier of which made good use of chewy, oily croutons to tamp their intermittent fire.


Dessert was definitely a high point.  We were undecided among the choices, and while my dining companion was jonesing for the rich gianduja tart or chocolate-sauced ricotta bomboloni, our waitress sided with me on the honey semifreddo, much to my delight.  And with the size of it, she might as well've sat down and helped up finish it, because it's easily shareable for two and then some.   Inarguably luscious, though, it combines the simple elegance of the creamy semifreddo with the honey-almond croccante, achieving the homey nostalgia of toasted marshmallow, but impossibly cool and creamy.

Another highlight were, amusingly, the restrooms: the stall doors are white-washed shutters, the men's room walls painted in striking red with zebras, the ladies' the immersive peachy-pink of undulating flamingos.   It's a playful, thoughtful attention to detail that might be a little lacking in the menu itself.  But the thought is there in all aspects, and on many levels, that's a lot of what counts.

31 Great Jones Street
tel.  (212)253-5700

SESSANTA

John McDonald strikes again, keeping his focus downtown by taking over the old Kittichai space at 60 Thompson Street, and enlisting Chef Jordan Frosolone to reign over this new Sicilian in the Village.  I couldn't find an immediate translation for "frosolone", but I'm leaning towards fra sole, which would translate to "between a big sun".  I like this, accuracy notwithstanding, and it segues nicely with the number of untraditional spellings throughout the menu, which may just be attributed to quirks of the Sicilian dialect.  I never made it here when it was the popular Thai restaurant of yore, so I can't compare the room, but at Sessanta (adopting the easy nomenclature of the street number in Italian), it's hard to forget you are dining in a hotel.  Stripey wallpaper in ruddy
reds and browns coordinate with a red tiled floor, but somehow there is still an office-y boxiness to it.  An eclectic mix of art
hangs on the walls, some Italo-centric, some graphic and colorful.   But it gives you something to admire until menus arrive: that, along with the very attractive clientele that Mr. McDonald always seems to attract. 

 So the room gains appeal as it fills up, the lighting soft and warm so everyone looks even better.   A large skylight framed in frondy plants also breaks things up... and made we wonder how it was possible since the rest of the hotel rises above the ground floor restaurant.  But a little welcome appetizer arrives from the kitchen to distract me: a crunchy, toasted crostino topped with a warm, stewy compote of
summer squashes and eggplant, plush and sumptuous under a dusting a pungent parmesan.  Nothing revolutionary, but perfectly balanced and rich enough to warrant an  amuse-sized portion.  Ditto the steamy potato-cheese croquette: its crisp-fried exterior just substantial enough to encase its gooey, cheesy innards.  These are the kinds of things you want more and more of, but with dinner to follow are better kept in diminutive portions.

A salad of baby kale and romaine is moistened with just enough dressing to render the greens toothsome, shrouded in a feather-light grating of zesty pecorino nerello.  Chef is very conscientious of his cheese usage: there are dozens of unique Italian formaggi gracing different dishes, each paired thoughtfully with its cohorts, instead of just throwing parm on everything.  The pecorino here served as an assertive counterpoint for paper-thin, mild radishes and tender sweet beets cloched underneath.   A gorgeous fritto misto barely ensconced the variety of shrimp and vegetables in crunchy gossamer shells - even the lemon wedges were battered and fried, rendering them mild enough to munch along with everything else, bursting in your mouth with a gentle, tamed citrusiness.

On the other hand, there is nothing gentle about a deceptively light-sounding Schiaffuni Raviolo, with its baby leeks and zucchini.  I imagined this resulting in a summery, bikini-friendlier pasta dish, but the bright succotash of produce occluded an enormous noodle pocket, fat with cheese-amplified cheese, stretching oozy and luxe between forkfuls, bedecked with a fine dusting of more grated cheese, and topped with frico (more fried cheese).  It was fantastically tasty, for the few bites I could manage, but I bowed out before even conquering it halfway.  I had to wonder if this might now be more successful shrunken and doled out like the bruschetta and croquette, a mini-version amuse.

For an entree, secondo-style, I couldn't decide between meat and fish (the veal marsala read like the classic, appealingly so.  And our waiter recommended the branzino as a most popular item, but it felt a little "safe").  So I went for the two-birds-with-one-stone option: a surfy-turfy grilled swordfish served over pulled pork shoulder, some artichoke and carrot thrown in for good measure.  The fish was cut thick like a T-bone, and just as juicy.  The braising juices pooled deep below, begging for a starchy component to take advantage them, so I commandeered a bread basket- three slices of which just handled the overflow.  I think a thickened, gravy-er version might have worked better to prop up the fish over such a brothy sluice, although a very home-grown, round carrot nub and chunky artichokes did their part.  I'm a huge proponent of keeping the flesh above the fluid, so as not to sog things up.  But the flavors were outstanding: salty, meaty, umami-y.  And the sparsity of vegetables called for a side order of
something leafy: there are five sides listed on the menu, but only two seemed appropriately vegetative.  I went for the chard with garlic and lemon, which just edged out roasted zucchini with pignoli and mint (might've been a better choice, actually.  The chard was great, but now I'm curious about that squash, whereas with the chard I pretty much knew what I was getting myself into, tasty as it was).  Starchier options included roasted corn (complete with  more cheese), shell beans slicked in oil, and rosemary potatoes.

On the sweet side of things, desserts are pretty standard dessert-y with Italian elements.  Aside from cannoli,  flecked with chips of chocolate and pistachio, a chocolate pudding with salted cookie crumbs and candied cashews, or a rhubarb crisp with creme anglaise could have been on pretty much any menu.  They do have a cookie plate of assorted Sicilian specialities: Sicilians like their biscotti nutty, so there are versions with almonds, hazelnuts, pistachios or sesame.  All in all, Sessanta performs solidly.... I'd rank it much higher than it's street number out of a hundred, for sure.  And with Frosolone's sensibility, I'd say that the best is yet to come, with the heartier ingredients and appetites of fall and winter just waiting for his expertise.

60 Thompson Street
tel.  212-219-8119
info@sessantanyc.com