An invite
And a little restaurant magic
Yesterday, I swung by the opening of Stars daytime service. The idyllic East Village wine bar has an impeccable stereo system. As my cortado arrived — brewed with Maru beans, a nice touch — “In A Silent Way” began playing. The patio was open. I was cruising through Sebastian Mallaby’s biography of Demis Hassabis and DeepMind. Two pie tins of egg tart with onion jam strolled in the front door, ready to be sliced and doused in sharp cheese.
Half reclined in a Regal Union Square seat an hour later, the combo of the tart, the music, the buoyant staff and the just good enough New York summer weather hit me. Seth Rogen was complaining about his back pain and the imposition of strangers in his apartment. His character in The Invite is miserable, delusional about his willingness to be unhappy. The movie is one of my favorites of the year, behind only Blue Heron. It’s funny and cutting about the lies we tell ourselves to avoid a reckoning that might blow up our lives. It’s about both the biggest and the smallest problems. How inertia gets dangerous when it goes unchecked. You can wear the same clothes and do the same routines and blame the same external factors for your issues, secretly hoping some comet will come snap you out of it.
Places like Stars in those moments of bliss, with stacked, little details all done as well as possible, are a reliable salve for this kind of malaise. It’s a thing I love about the very best restaurants and bars. The spots in Chase Sinzer and Joshua Pinsky’s East Village empire take a thing you know well and ramp it up with the highest level of care, consideration and craft. Red shrimp at Claud that leave the kitchen raw, hissing in a hot pan so they can arrive at your table perfectly cooked. A poached Maine lobster at Penny, with every piece lacquered in melted butter via a bundle of herbs. A wine list where you can ball out or save your bankroll.
Of course, when you leave this dining room excellence, you might end up back at a cold San Francisco apartment like the one in The Invite. One with all of the right Scandinavian design touches and vintage rugs and restored tile. Whatever qualms you left with bubble back up. But I don’t know. An evening in the throes of gorgeous restaurant alchemy is where my brain and my soul find a bit better balance. After jumping through the hoops of logistics and reservations and transportation and expectations, you’re in this room, surrounded by friends and strangers, getting the full sensory experience of greatness and care and hospitality. Blending gossip and joy and surprise and comfort. I think only restaurants can do that kind of delight. New York restaurants, in particular, do it in a way restaurants in no other city really can.
Some more of my recent favorites in this mode:
The geniuses over at Bistrot Ha serve their beef tartare topped with onion rings, replacing the traditional chips or bread. Each ring in the tower is just a tad smaller than the one below it. The seasoning on the batter goes right to the edge. You scoop a bite and think, oh, yeah. This isn’t the only way to eat this classic dish. Certainly not. It’s not how I always want to eat this dish. But is it the best way? Yeah, it probably is.
Whatever simple vegetable set of the moment is on the Wilde’s menu is becoming an absolute must-order. Chef Natasha Price just runs circles around her access to good Los Angeles produce. Right now, there’s raw zucchini with strips of pecorino and a heavy sprinkling of almonds. A friend asked me the other night what’s the first thing I’m looking for as a green flag at a restaurant. It’s always salads like this. Do you do this kind of simple thing with care, from the sourcing to the layering to the plating to knowing when it’s time to swap in a new seasonal component? It’s much harder and more rare than you think.
I thought Marcel was going to be a dumb, fun, extravagant time with mediocre food underneath the old Met Breuer space. Turns out, the food is pretty good! Especially the Les Grands section of the dessert menu, where the prices exceed $50 and the portion sizes get comical. Go with at least four. Get dressed up. Order a bunch of tall-stemmed cosmos. And embrace an over-the-top way to do the best course of a meal. I think our simmering days of tamped-down pastry ambition and luxury may finally be over.