THE FULTON

Jean-Georges may be spreading himself too thin not only throughout  New York, but across the globe, in my humble opinion, BUT! at The Fulton, he's got an extremely capable team covering all the bases.  And while it doesn't feel so much like a J.G. restaurant, per se, there are glimmers of his presence intermittently, although ironically the two "signature" elements I noticed were among the few faults incurred.

The restaurant itself is pretty spectacular.   They play up the seafood/nautical theme to the hilt, painting the walls with a muted, deep sea panorama and thick glass light fixtures reminiscent of buoys.  The East River ebbs and flows past, its surface frothed by speeding jet-skis and ferry boats, tourists cruises and an occasional sailboat, all of which make for a lovely vista, especially on the steamy summer night which I visited.  As the sun set, the sky lapsed into a splendid cotton-candy hued backdrop for the Manhattan Bridge, the waning sunlight glinting off the river's gentle caps.  Of course, the menu is similarly ocean-centric, and not exorbitantly priced.  There are classic seafood towers and raw bar options, presented on their tiered caddies and plates mounted with ice, as well as Crudos with Vongerichten's signature Asian flourish.

The only salad aside from a composed chilled asparagus duet was a kale and pea concoction, shrouded in a fluffy layer of lacy pecorino shavings and anchored in a thick, verdant avocado puree.  On paper it was an excellent salad, but it was a bit too salty and rich with an excess of cheese and avocado; a lighter hand on the dressing elements would've made it really wonderful.  As it was, I only made it about halfway through before my lips got little tingly from a salt o.d.  The menu is pretty big; there is a lot to choose from, although the focus is obviously maritime.   All the pastas have seafood

c/o Terri S. on Yelp

 elements, and the fresh tagliatelle with broccoli and cockles that we chose was superb.  Punched with black pepper and mint, the sturdy noodles held their own, effectively costarring with their accouterments and the abundance of sweet, fresh cockles in their shells.  Spice-crusted salmon was rich but delicate, a little skimpy
 on the roasted heirloom squash nestled beneath it, but sauced in a lovely balance of lime and coconut, tropical but not too tiki.  I was torn between medallions of monkfish with Calabrian chili, roasted potatoes and spinach and what I ended up with, a luxurious filet of black
 sea bass nestled into a rich lemon-turmeric emulsion impaled with long, spindly greenmarket carrots roasted tender with tufts of tarragon.  I was absolutely happy with my choice, although that monkfish might be my go-to on a revisit, although there are a roster of Simply Grilled options that showcase the freshest of the fresh, and this being the modern new incarnation of what was the Fulton Fish Market of yore, their prioritization of freshness is exemplary.

For those who just cannot stomach this devotion to the ocean, there's a hamburger, French-onion-souped out with Gruyere and crispy onions, as well as some roast chicken and a Wagyu tenderloin.  There are a category of Vegetables as well offered as side dishes, although the only one that I would technically categorize as a vegetable was an excellent plate of grilled asparagus, nothing fancy but solid, whereas the rest of them definitely fall iunder the rubric of starches: mashed potatoes, French fries and quinoa, albeit the latter of which features peas and favor, starchy vegetables though they are.

Desserts were, might I say, controversial.  Our server pushed the Chocolate Mousse, a layered quadrangle of peanut brittle and chocolate iterations, some noticeably bitter, sided with opposing orbs of passion fruit sorbet and vanilla ice cream.  The dessert was, apparently, somehow a "mistake"... I'm not sure at which point of production whichever ingredient interrupted the others, but so the story goes.  And the moral of that story is that they need a better editor.  Nothing made sense with the other components, and while chocolate desserts aren't my favorites anyways, this one wasn't even worth a second taste.  It just wasn't good, in texture or flavor, and really wasn't even that pretty.  It was also enormous.  The other one we tried, a lovely Strawberry Sundae wasn't going to win any awards for novelty, but it was beautifully cool and creamy and rife with myriad versions of peak-season strawberries, so many, in
fact, that it was hard to taste them all unless one is a big dessert eater.  Berries fresh, freeze dried, jammy, poached, and frozen into sorbet along with ice cream, whipped cream and subtle lime meringue bits served in a deep bowl was big enough for three or four people.  I can't imagine someone could fully appreciate either of these desserts to the full extent- the portions are just too big and multifaceted to hold one's attention.  They end up seeming wasteful and garish; it would be better to specify that they are made for sharing, or else minimize them.  The prices could even stay the same, or nearly the same, and just eliminate the excess.

But really, that was the biggest misstep, and fairly minimal, all things considered.  For me, this is J.G.'s strongest restaurant in the city right now. That and ABCV, which just goes to show you that as long as one keeps on top of things and stays current, focussed and aware, even the old dogs can perform the new tricks.

89 South Street at Pier 17 in the Seaport District 
(follow the signs)
tel.  (2120838-1200

LEGACY RECORDS

Legacy Records has been on my radar since its opening, but no recommendations or reviews had encouraged or motivated me to go, until on of those last minute I-Can't-Think-of-Anywhere-to-Go-that-We-Could-Get-Into-at-This-Point scenarios landed in my lap, and it became the mosts suitable destination.  It's pretty remote, located over in the Netherlands of far West Chelsea, more notable for its galleries and clubs than restaurants, which perhaps was part of the inspiration.  You'd think the place would have a rock 'n roll feel, but it's much more understated than that. Although that could've been partially because it was practically empty; there was but one other party of two brunching simultaneously. The soundtrack,
however, played up the theme to the hilt: it was so raucously loud conversation was nearly impossible, which was noticeably bizarre since the restaurant was so empty.  It kind of felt like being in some cavernous venue before a concert while they were doing sound-check: all the cacophony of the band with none of the presentation.

The room is stately.  It looks a little "Mad Men", retro touches abound and the room is very handsome and well-organized.  I can't say whether it was because it was so dead that the service had just kind of given up even trying, but although each intermittent interaction with staff was absolutely pleasant and  efficient, no one really went out of their way to being a little more liveliness to the vacuity.  We were brought menus, which are limited enough at dinner, but the brunch one was even more succinct.  Vegetarians here are fairly screwed, relegated to a whipped ricotta on miche, a grilled avocado dish, or two salads... one of which they had "run out of."  Which seems highly weird, 'cause I have a tough time thinking they had been very busy earlier on, but at any rate, the Little Gems with charred snow peas were not available, and there are

 no vegetable side dish or really even a main (avocados, as fatty fruits, don't really count in my book), so the whole scenario is pretty non-leafy, balking the trend of plant-based seasonal cuisine quite blatantly.  We took the one offering that lived up to that description, which was a nice lacinato kale salad with tender beets, and a creamy, fruity, saffron-inflected dressing beflecked with crunchy crushed almonds.

We went lunchier with mains, drawn to the Tuscan fried chicken, in part because my tablemate was Tuscan.  It was a stellar dish, as far as fried chicken goes, craggy and crunchy and burnished a deep russet.  The meat was so juicy I'm not sure how it didn't sog the crust.  It is served with a small medley of sharp pickles and a moderately hot dipping sauce, but was basically just a big pile of (albeit excellent) fried meat.  Additionally, our other selection of spaghetti with Dungeness, again, featured nary a hint of chlorophyll.  The spaghetti itself was excellent, cooked to a perfect al dente and the lumps of crab fresh and sweet, but the whole meal just read very carb- and protein-heavy, with a distinct lack of freshness.  I guess a lot of people eat this way; I don't.   So while execution might be en pointe, menu balance leaves a lot to be desired.  Too that it would've probably been a little difficult to scream any off-the-menu requests to our server, given the volume of the music.  (That's actually kind of a lie, because I DID request some veg side option, but he looked at me quizzically and basically shut that inquiry down.)

I'm not sure if there was a dessert menu from which my tablemate ordered without me while I visited the Little Girl's Room, or if they shuffled out a complimentary post-prandial sweet just as a thank-you-for-being-like-the-only-patrons-to-show-up-today, but it was a nice scoop of vanilla studded with six densely sweet Italian cherries and a flutter of cocoa nibs.  It would have been
 really nice had I conserved some of my Counter Culture iced coffee to enjoy alongside it, but it had long run out: stuff's good- it's hard to drink slowly.  I'm not sure if this brunch, which wasn't cheap,  was good enough to encourage a return to try out dinner, which is always pricier.  There was nothing to make me constitutionally opposed, however, so especially if summertime bequeaths are greater proportion from the farmer's market, I might flip it over for Side 2.

517 West 38th Street
https://resy.com/cities/ny/legacy-records?date=2019-06-18&seats=2

KYMA

The search for an exceptional Greek restaurant in the borough of Manhattan has been elusive for me. There are plenty I have enjoyed, but none so much that I would direct others there, or return voluntarily.  Kyma, a fairly recent newcomer to Chelsea, might have been just a half step above these others, but I had a strange experience there making it a little more difficult to separate the restaurant from the situation.  The room is pretty, to be sure, and well-populated, buoyant in the chattery, lively way of people enjoying themselves, which always improves the energy.  But full disclosure: a lot of my opinions might have been severely affected by a lackluster date situation I was enduring, someone who- unlike any and every and all of my prior tablemates- seemed almost wholly uninterested in the food.  I tried to retain my focus, but let's just say it got tricky.

Especially when he ordered a shrimp cocktail to begin.  You know, those giant crustaceans slung over the rim of a chilled glass filled with cocktail sauce.  Even the best rendition of this isn't a very remarkable dish, nor is it at all Greek.  They were very fresh, to be fair, but this is the stuff of wedding banquets, and require zero consideration from a chef.  My beet salad, on the other hand, was excellent.  Playfully plated with piped dabs of a luciously garlicky skordalia and a flounce of zippy micro greens, it welcomingly sidestepped the obvious goat cheese much to its advantage.  A basket of warm, pliant whole
wheat flatbread was slicked with an herb-flecked oil, and very useful in swabbing up any remaining residue of the skordalia.






The Greek influence was also minimal in a raw shredded Brussels sprouts and kale salad, which was crowned with what turned out to be a barely-warmed egg; undiscernable at first glance, it looked like a blob of translucent burrata or half-gelled whey.  Breaking it open, though, released it
from its shredded wheat nest helped to help lubricate the otherwise sturdy greens.  It was actually a pretty nice salad, undercooked egg notwithstanding, and the kataifi at least nodded Hellenic.   The menu is pretty vast, and by missing explorative opportunities with those shrimp, much of it left unexamined, which may explain some of my discontent.  More interesting sounding options were zucchini fritters with sumac yogurt, or a snacky sounding pan-seared sesame-crusted feta with cranberries and raspberry honey.  Another selection from the starters, a simple grilled octopus with roasted peppers, capers and an onions was stellar, and ample: had it been sided with some accoutrements it would have made for a terrific
 main course, the octopus super fresh and flavorful, if a bit saline, but with a wonderful char and perfect texture.   These, along with a side dish such as the brussels we got, would've made a fine meal.  This veg itself was sautéed with loukaniko, a type of Greek sausage, which was a little mealy, and the sprouts were noticeably
sweet and on the undercooked side, but they were all right, even in their redundancy with the aforementioned salad, but then again I have a lot of leeway with brussels sprouts: give me roasted/sauteed/seared one and I cannot turn it away.




Of entrees, then, we sampled but one, with was a cheffier concoction than the myriad selections of Simply Grilled items from the sea, ranging from daurade to branzino, two types of snapper or swordfish, and crustaceans like lobster or tiger shrimp.  Another advantage here is that all the items are priced per dish, not per pound, so you know what you're getting yourself into.  There were listed eight "Other Specialities", from which I chose pan-seared scallops with poached clams and buttered leeks that formed a creamy, luxurious base with a puree of parsnips, some thin strips of which were gently fried into a delicate garnish.  It was a solid composition, again making me wonder, or actually confirm, that my subtle dismay of the evening had less to do with the restaurant itself, but for the effect that an underenthusiastic dining companion can have on the meal itself.  I think, perhaps, I owe Kyma a second shot.... which would also allow the opportunity for dessert, which was skipped since my "date" called for the check before even our plates from dinner were cleared.  So it was probably a first-and-last for my date, but I'll give Kyma another chance.

15 West 18th Street
tel. 212.268.5555

CROWN SHY

With what might be the best restaurant logo of all time, Crown Shy opened up with a quiet murmur worthy of its arboreal nomenclature.  It is uber-on trend with this name and its references: every book I read seems to involve trees as characters as important as the humans, and I keep hearing musings about how we are just beginning to understand how trees communicate with one another, and that they are much more sentient than perhaps previously acknowledged (if you're confused here, read The Secret Life of Trees, and/or The Overstory).  Alternatively, book a table at Crown Shy, which takes its name from its location in two ways: located at 70 Pine Street among the looming skyscrapers of the Financial District, the term Crown Shy refers to how the canopy of trees of some species never quite touch, remaining just shy of leaf-to-leaf contact, which hypothetically reduces cross-contamination of pests as well as leaving enough sunlight to filter down so that organisms beneath them can thrive.  The lofty buildings of Manhattan can often appear to exhibit this tendency, their penthouses stretching well into the sky, while obviously remaining parallel, their tops seem almost to be approach one another, leaving just slivers of sky to the masses below.  So that logo, stretched from the length of homepage, over the top of the matchbook and down the whole side of the menu is ingenious, and illustrates the creativity, ingenuity, consideration and precision that has been invested in every element of the restaurant.



Aside from the room itself, that is, that shows its very obvious bones of tis predecessors, a corporate banking firm.  The ceilings are lofty, the gangly chandeliers sparse but intriguing, and the room well lit and calm.  It's a landmarked building, too, so perhaps they've done as much as they could to shake the corporate vibe that preceded it.  They certainly made inroads at softening up the interior, the open kitchen helping out in that respect immensely,
especially when enthusiastic huzzahs erupt from the team (I'm not sure what inspired the intermittent cheers, but they did add a levity to the situation).  Still, it has a sort of awkward layout, as well as a labyrinthian path to the restrooms and a sedate ambiance. This latter attribute isn't necessarily negative, though, and it certainly allows the focus to remain on the food.  But as the menu is formatted for sharing, or so it would seem, sometimes the magic of each individual dish gets a little blurred, whereas some of this food might be better appreciated in a tasting menu format.  But that's only because the food is that good, and I don't want you to miss anything.  The Eleven Mad influence can be sensed throughout, the iconic culinary insinuation where Bocuse D'Or winning chef James Kent cooked before partnering with Jeff Katz of Del Posto in this new FiDi venture.




A bronze-crusted tubular-shaped monkey bread welcomed us, sprinkled with pungent seeds, and its cottony-soft interior steaming hot just waiting to melt salt-sprinkled yogurt butter, unctuous and rich, into its tender crumb.  On the contrary, an icy plate of chilled oysters with shiso and cucumber were as fresh
and bracing as could be.  These were from the first section of the menu, intended as snacky type bites, from which we also tried the red snapper crudo, a precision dice of the most pristinely fresh fish kissed with

citrus underneath a thin tuile pressed out of sesame, crisp and nutty.  Beef tartare scented with rye was richer, but a distinct delicacy is preserved with ivory leaves of crisp endive in
 which to scoop it up.  Ivory cones of jicama are arranged in gorgeous furls, creating a ruffled bouquet planted into a salty puree of green chickpeas studded with some left whole and enlivened with fluttery shaving of pecorino.




From the following section of small plates, we
solicited our server to help in deciding between blistered snap peas and an oddly intriguing sounding concoction of charred carrots and clams, of which he guided us to the former, but assured us it wouldn't be excessive to have both.  Which was simply providential, because while those peas were delicious with their wasabi and lime, the carrots were the best dish of the night.  The roots themselves must have had a Brix

measurement that is off the charts, aggressively roasted even sweeter, and then bathed in a foamy, salty age of  chowder, studded with chewy bits of razor clam and a flurry of lemon thyme. It was surprising, novel, unique, and utterly magical.  More char found its way onto hunks of octopus teamed up with chorizo and those hypebeasts of the season, spring ramps.  The flavor of the dish overall was masterful, its ruddy oil pooling beneath robust and fragrant with the young allium, but my tablemates stole all the octopus before I got to it as I was hypnotized with the carrots, so I only tasted the chorizo, which for it's own sake was excellent.  I would guess by the unanimously clean plates that the octopus was just as worthy, and an exquisitely beautiful plate as well.



We ordered so much food, but the bill did not escalate too dauntingly, as it might easily have; the prices up to that point hovered under the twenty dollar mark.  Larger, entree-esque portions stretch up to $59, but that's for a two-person short rib that could easily serve four or more with a smattering from the prior categories.  A whole branzino was gracefully butterflied atop an herby mire smoothed with avocado, and topped with gossamer slices of radish, red, black and white.    The fish was flaky and moist, super fresh and flavorful.  I know most branzino is farmed these days, but either they've nailed the

i

I desperately wanted three out of the four listed desserts, but we had really topped ourselves out on the savories.  But honestly, a sticky toffee pudding with apple sorbet, a buttermilk panna cotta or most alluring, the pineapple pavlova each had my name anagrammed across the span of them.  There's also a chocolate tart for the chocophiles (more for you) with a syrupy grape reduction, as well as an assortment of ice creams that could justify a visit on their own: roasted banana with caramel and peanut butter or a divine-sounding satsuma orange with toasted marshmallow.  Take that, Taiyaki.

70 Pine Street
tel.  (212) 517-1932

ABCV

I'm not vegan.  I'm not even vegetarian.  But I am a total vegephile, so when I needed a destination for my part-time vegan friend and I at which to dine, I went straight to ABCV, which has been lingering on my to-eat list for awhile now.  ABC Kitchen (its farm-to-table predeceessor),still holds a place dear to my heart even without Dan Kluger, the wunderkind behind its magic.  It was my go-to recommendation for a LONG time (before Losing Place opened) for that type of cuisine, and I enjoyed ABC Cocina as well, all of these alphabetically titled eateries under the broad jurisdiction of Jean-Georges Vongerichten .  But of the three, I have to say I may have enjoyed ABCV best of all... and none of my dining companions would disagree.

They got there a little earlier than I and were deep into their thirteen dollar cold-pressed juices by the time I joined them.  In addition to the array of juices there are "Vibrations" (lots and lots of Vs here, thanks to Vongerichten) which are described as restorative tonics, combing such peculiar flora as ashwaganda, St. John's wort or rhodiola to achieve various temperaments, like mindfulness and centering.  For two dollars more, I opted to center myself with an excellent Vespaiolo; for my sake, a wholly vegetarian dinner still seems a bit virtuous so I felt fully justified indulging in a glass of wine, even if my tablemates did remain securely belted atop their respective wagons.


The menu is broken down into Vegetables: Light & Fresh or Warm & Hot, starchier Noodles & Rice and Legumes, and a couple of Dosa options.  The vegetable dishes are somewhat less substantial in terms of satiety than the latter two, but the portions are no less generous.

From the Light & Fresh category, little could be fresher than avocado lettuce cups, with saucer-sized leaves cradling fanned-out slices of avocado, punched up with Serrano pepper, cumin and a bright blast of citrus.  Lovely nasturtium blossoms added a little more pepperiness and a lovely shot of color to breakup the. monochromatic greenness of the un-deconstructed salad.    A smoky puree of

 eggplant was just a bright and zesty, although a little more robust.  It was served with chilled crudités and warm, chewy pita bread, but the crisp veggies held it better within the bounds of its category.  Cute little dollops of

 yogurt and polka dots of tomato chutney gave a whimsical, festive appearance and assimilated brilliantly into the creamy dip.  A beet tartare could have been easily mistaken from afar for its carnivorous counterpart- visually, that is.  The thinly sliced crimson root's earthy sweetness showed well against a light dijon vinaigrette, surprised with pickly bits of sliced cornichon and a dab of avocado puree to soothe the tang.  

Moving on to Warm & Hot (which I think I could have gratefully ordered and inhaled ALL of), we began with some lusty donku shiitakes, which were both as picturesque as they were delicious, thus you get to enjoy two photos of them until you can reward yourselves with the real thing.  Drizzled in yuzukoshu green goddess and paired with richly roasted cipollini onions, it was just a playground of layered umami.  I was in anguish choosing between roasted cauliflower and and char-grilled artichokes, but our server steered us to the former, and my tablemates were in cahoots, so I missed out on those thistley harbingers of spring.  Not that there was any complaint to issue about the cauli; 

it was a lovely rendition sluiced in tahini and tossed with pomegranate arils and pistachios for crunch.  It's just that the whole roasted cauliflower (in truth, we opted for but a half) is getting a little played-out, and it is one dish easy enough to make on one's own... as opposed to artichokes, which are a comparative lot of work and subsequently a greater treat, imho. 

  

With a table of three, we still had ample room for some of the starchier options, and that's even as we had all earned Clean Plate Gold Stars from the previous dishes.  Mushrooms called out to us again, though, so we tried both the Morel 

Wontons and a bolognese riff substituting walnuts in for beef.   The wontons in the former were simply filmy-thin. shrink-wrapping their morel filling.  They were the utmost pleasure to bite into and release the toothsome, plump mushrooms embraced within, and the broth marvelously rich, especially considering its lack of animally bits and bones usually crucial to good stock.  I preferred it greatly to the carrot paccheri pseudo-bolognese, its floppy pasta tubes a little undercooked and

 stiff, and the sugo under seasoned.  But I find that is normally the case with vegan/vegetarian food, too.  It is at its best when it focuses on the ingredient, and not when it is trying to replicate a traditionally un-veg concoction, upon which most of ABCV triumphs.

Desserts were pleasant but perhaps slightly less noteworthy, but that is perhaps because the one I so desperately wanted from the menu had somehow become unavailable (a strawberry-rhubarb sundae that had my name written all over it) .  Instead, the combination of the two we ended up choosing actually worked best combined with one another than on their own: a coconut custard cut the dense richness of the chocolate mousse, and the tropical fruits of mango and passionfruit worked well with the

 islandy custard.  And the custard's cape gooseberries, strewn like jewels alongside more pomegranate arils, are always a novel delicacy on their own.   

Now, I cannot say in truth that I didn't wake up hungrier than perhaps I normally do after a dinner out, but I inarguably felt absolutely sated upon completion of our meal at ABCV.  That said, we ordered quite a lot of food, so volume had a lot to do with it.  But the flavors and composition of the dishes were more than satisfying, and the competence of the chef (who is Neal Harden, by the way) evident in both in the deliciousness and the artistry of his plating.  For omnivores and even devout carnivores, ABCV might be the best veg NYC has to offer, especially during pre-bikini season.  You can certainly indulge here and tax your calorie RDA to the hilt if you make a point of it, but it is just as easy if not easier to get a brilliantly flavorful, rejuvenating and inspiring meal keeping things light as feather... or perhaps a sweet pea blossom.

38 east 19th street new 

p: 212.475.5829