[Pigging by Wilfrid: September 22, 2008]
The cavernous Bowery space which most recently housed Manahatta re-opened this week as an AvroKo-designed fantasia on the last days of the Raj --
-- not so much the jewel in Brad Farmerie's crown as an opportunity for the talented Public?Monday Room chef to sell a crowd-pleasing version of Asian-British fusion to the same cute, young and raucous crowd which has packed his Elizabeth Street flagship for years.
"I was asking for something specific and perfect for my city," muttered the poet of New York in "Manahatta", but I suspect Whitman would have found that uncozy Bowery lounge less convivial than his Bohemian beer-parlor, Pfaff's. It won't be missed: the striking neon bar sign will though, and it's a pity it's gone, replaced by a standard issue khaki canopy in which Double Crown's name - something to do with scalps rather than Empire, surely - is picked out in small, matter-of-fact cap.s.
The interior is ramshackle-dramatic, from a large front-bar with communal tables, to a capacious rear dining room, and beyond - where something clubby-loungey appeared to be happening. The walls of the dining room are lined with what appear to be big, white, wooden doors ripped from some South-East Asian temple. Carved elephants dangle from the ceiling. The noise of conversation bounces around the echo-chamber thus created.
In conventional New York '08 style, the menu has a section of small plates in addition to appetizers and mains; in this case, though, neither tapas nor bar snacks nor stuzzichini, but "hawker" plates - named for the hawker markets of Singapore where portions are not especially small and where nothing resembling any of this food would be found.
If anything, these titbits are an odd mixture of Chinese and cockney. Duck steamed buns arrive in a bamboo basket; they're finger-food-sized and pleasant enough, with a hoisin dipping sauce. Other options, like the half pint of prawns or fried whitebait evoke (if I may) the Sunday tea-times of my London childhood.
"Pigs in a wet blanket" is hardly a name to get the juices flowing: but it's a neat idea. Lychees are stuffed with sausage meat and lightly grilled, producing a sweet-slippery version of the buffet staple.
Your server will encourage you to order from the hawker plates right away, as they fly out of the kitchen fast and allow you to complete a first course before you've finished reading the menu. They come with crunchy flatbreads and three Indian-accented sauces - cucumber, tamarind (slightly spicy), and lime pickle (surprisingly not spicy at all).
Another Brit touch to the house cocktails: Pimm's Number One Cup is a fragrant, lightly alcoholic cordial, rarely seen outside its country of origin. You serve it over lots of ice with - well, I'd call it lemonade, but I suppose 7Up - and fill the glass with chunks of fruit and cucumber. It was refreshing, unlike a bludgeoning combination of gin (about half a pint) and watery, flavorless house-made ginger beer. The menu insisted that chili and lemongrass were in the mix, but any such presence was muted.
The crispy quail sadly wasn't. There had been some attempt to produce a crunchy golden skin, but at some point the project had tended toward the mushy. The tamarind sauce with carrots and coriander gave the dish a sweetish Indian-ish aura. The quail was announced as "drunken" as well as crispy - which implies a use of alcohol in the cooking; but you wouldn't know.
Smoked mackerel salad was crunchy and refreshing, with small nuggets of pungent fish. Some lime pickle, that usually fiery condiment, seemed to lurk mildly in the background. Occasionally, one wondered if the food was supposed to be spicier than it was.
I should, I suppose, have ordered a side dish with the pheasant pie, if only to have something to fill up the melancholy empty space on the plate. This was a pot pie, or at least a large ramekin topped with a pastry puff. Billed as pheasant and licorice, the latter was a noticeable but rightly not overwhelming flavor accent. Otherwise, the chunks of pheasant were bathed in just the kind of pale, potatoey sauce you'd find in any chicken pie. Smoked bacon made little impact.
I am used to eating fluke raw rather than poached, but it made for a light, summery dish, served over lentils (described as a dhal, but not as liquid) with some fresh peas.
Desserts are a random mix of American, British and Asian. Pecan tart was sweet and crunchy - again, you'd have to study it hard to find the purported tamarind. I didn't get to try much of the Malaysian banana cake.
I am a fan of Brad Farmerie's delicate side - The Monday Room. I like his brash Australian-edged cooking at Public too, but am driven away by the crowds. Indeed, Double Crown was packed enough in its first week to promise popular success. Where they need to pump up the volume is in the flavor profile of the food, which right now is flatter, less spicy, less imaginative, less exotic than the brightly written menu.
Website and menu right here.
