[Pigging by Wilfrid: May 18, 2007]
It's what he gets up to with the foie.
(Foie Gras in the Round at WD-50)
He's been at it since the day they opened, too...
Sardines and liver was the offending dish. But no, not quite. It was a bijou rectangle of smooth foie, several silver fresh, marinated (gently pickled) anchovies lined neatly on top like sardines in a can. And a garnish of dry, dusty cocoa nibs.
Now I once knew a very fine rock guitarist who sought a discharge from uncongenial military service in France by eating raw liver dipped in hot chocolate at every meal. He thought it more prudent than shooting himself in the foot, and it was every bit as effective. To read the comments of some Manhattan fine-beaks, when first confronted with the liver, fish, chocolate combo, you'd think it was as bad as a bullet in the big toe. Even fans of the chef's work at 71 Clinton Small Room (sorry, Fresh Food) were prepared to write this sleek LES diner off as Wylie and Dewey's folly; an unpalatable attempt to foist on a hungry public the unsavory outer limits of molecular gastronomy. And if it wasn't the foie, it was the mosaic of pressed oysters, the greyest, flattest, Carl Andre-est dish in town.
The chef's name, Wylie Dufresne, was a draw though, and the limousines came to line Clinton Street. In its early days, the restaurant certainly hosted the most painfully modish clan of eaters in the city. The bar, designed and intended for comfortable dining, regularly played host to an unbudgeable scrum of edgily-dressed, tiny-waisted things, toying with fingers of single cask bourbon. But complaints continued to flow: portions were tiny, you went to Katz's afterward; Dewey (Wylie's father and host) loved his wine list so much he refused BYO. The food was interesting but too weird. I remember some experienced diners being especially put out by the honey jelly topped with caviar.
The evolution of what I regard as one of the most reliably good and satisfying restaurants in the city has been a joy to watch - because it has been reciprocal. As diners expanded the borders of their expectations, WD-50's cuisine also made itself more generous, more approachable.
The smoked mashed potatoes were the first sign. Accompanying a fine cod dish, they became one of the most craved sides in town. And they provided a glimpse of Wylie's inner fast-food demon. In fact, properly understood, much of Wylie's inventiveness here has involved meticulously circling around and sneaking up on ideas of casual, comfort and street dining - then radically redefining them. A gently smoky trout dish bore more than a passing resemblance to a hot dog. Beef tongue alluded to pastrami, and came with another irresistible indulgence, mini-cubes of deep-fried mayo.
And then, of course, there's the droll literalism of the chef's popcorn shrimp: excellent langoustine served over a dramatic popcorn pureé. Now, I think the red stuff on top is dried hibiscus, and I say that tentatively to point up a Pink Pig-related side-effect of the kitchen's approach: the ingredients in a dish can be so many and so unusually employed that my chances of correctly identifying and remembering the accurately are low at best: I have some notes from my last dinner here which are joyful but illegible.
Beyond the experimentalism, in any case, purposeful whimsy is detectable. This food can be fun. It has, in the past - let's be honest - gone wildly wrong on occasion. A fresh ramp soup, a few seasons ago, the darkest green and with a soil-like texture, was a desperate failure. 
Contrast a recently evolving dish: a refreshing, velvety soybean gazpacho, with crab, ramps, pomegranate pureé.
At a recent dinner, the kitchen was kind enough to send out several new dishes and works in progress, displaying, for example, a method of drying or dessicating jamon Serrano to a white powder, while powerfully concentrating and expressing the original flavor (a garnish to the daurade amuse). A method too of floating the lightest, airiest puffs of cheese in a clear bouillon, giving them the appearance, and skin-popping texture of unborn chicken eggs (that recent and strange ingredient fad).
More fun? Shrimp and tarragon macaroons - ethereal in the rarely used correct sense of the word - almost "lacking material substance", as the dictionary says. In fact, cotton candy sprang to mind, but ...well, shrimp and tarragon flavored. 
And one more entry in the LES classic comfort food stakes: supremely delicate short ribs, braised for seventeen hours and yet still pink, almost wobbly. A bit like the photo, which was some fourteen courses and a couple of bottles the worse when taken. Yes onion rings, braised cabbage; but the meat - look at the marbling - was nothing less than an angel's idea of Katz's legendary pastrami - something which WD-50's clients, now that the dishes on the carte are visibly more substantial, no longer need order on the way home. (Oh, Dewey conceded the BYO point too, although there is understandably corkage to pay.)
To digress back to the foie. After the shock of the anchovied-cocoa version, chef Wylie began a series of projects aimed at trapping the contrasting accent, which he clearly believes the creamy richness of the foie demands - actually inside the torchon. The first shock was cutting it open, only to have a pungent nori sauce glide brinily across the plate. Subsequent versions prized sweet-but-tart fillings. In 2007, however, we have a structurally innovative run at the same idea. Look again:
(Click).
The foie is now technologically recast as a heap of tiny, delicate baubles. Closest thing, maybe barley? Not quite caviar, although they pop on the tongue. The chocolate is back, as the plain bitter coating of miniscule crunchy, biscuity bites. And the green? The almost iodine shock of watercress. It worried me at first, because I suspected wheatgrass, and I despise wheatgrass. But I think watercress is okay.
What next? I'll be pleased to find out.
[Disclosure: We are recognized by the restaurant, and know some staff members well, and the kitchen was kind enough to send out some off-menu sketches from the chef's imagination. I strongly advise first-time diners to take the tasting menu, which is the best way to get a complete and balanced picture of what the kitchen can do.]
