[Pigging by Wilfrid: September 27, 2010]
All mentions I've seen of the new Lamb's Restaurant so far work in a reference to Mad Men. Vintage New York glamor. Nah...
This is actually what Sardi's, also on 44th, would look like if the owners spent some money on it.
Before we get to the food, there's a back story, and it's a tangled one. Patience. The Lamb's Club comes first, formed in 1874, the country's oldest theater club, a gr0up of actors and clergy given to bursting into choruses of "The Whiffenpoof Song." I am not making this up. I had always assumed the clubhouse was on 44th Street, same block as the blessed Jimmy's Corner, because of the Lamb's flag displayed outside. Well, that was the original clubhouse in a listed Stanford White building, but the Lamb's themselves moved to 51st Street back in the 1970s.
They left behind the Lamb's Theater inside the Manhattan Church of the Nazarene close by the old clubhouse. The clubhouse has now been converted into the Chatwal Hotel, housing the Lamb's Club Restaurant. The restaurant menu confesses that the operation has no relationship with the Lamb's Club. This may well be at the Club's insistence, because it makes clear on its website that it has no connection with the Chatwal Hotel, the Lamb's Club restaurant, the Lamb's Theater in New York, the Church of the Nazarene, the Lamb's Theater in San Diego, or any other damn lamb enterprise.
Getting hungry?
Have some warm Parker House rolls, flecked with black sesame seeds and with a hint, I'd say, of sage in the dough. Chew on a less interesting and rather cold rosemary mini-baguette. Dip some brightly crunchy crudités in what looks like aioli, but is a pleasantly vinegary emulsion. And despair at the cocktail list.
As other reviewers have observed, the price of cocktails is absurd, mostly in the range $18 to $25 (they are "by" Sasha Petraske of Milk & Honey fame). There are some classics on the list, but really I can make them at home. Trouble is, having rejected the cocktails one finds the vinous aperitifs priced in the same range. There's a $14 Cava, but that's about as cheap as it goes. The Mas Daumas pink sparkler, a twenty dollar bottle, is priced like champagne. Wines by the glass admit a cheap $12 Minervois, but are otherwise as expensive as the cocktails.
This strikes a discordant note in an otherwise harmonious welcome. You enter through heavy iron gates (a gentleman will help you with them) and turn right into a womb-like dining room. A fire blazes, and the red leather bench around the hearth will be a pleasant perch when winter comes. The booths are red leather too,. A row of portraits of theatrical types discreetly lines the walls, but your eyes will be drawn to a huge cartoon of happy drinkers crammed at an old time bar. The room encourages bacchic three-martini jollity. The drinks list dissuades you.
Torn between poached salmon and a veal sweetbread on the fairly short and straightforward menu, I avoided self-caricature by choosing the non-offal item. The salmon was chilled, as advertised, but more raw than poached. I don't mind salmon sashimi, but have always felt that cooking adds flavor to this fish. It was robed in what the menu called a ginger salsa verde. it was certainly a green sauce, but ginger was not much in evidence. My server said it was made from various green herbs, mainly parsley, and I'd agree with her. Heirloom tomatoes bejeweled the plate, but I was particularly taken by what appeared to be pickled green tomatoes, their sharpness brightening the relative blandness of the salmon.
At this point, a comped dish emerged. I had wondered why they'd given me a spoon to eat my meat. Not sure what the occasion was - perhaps my camera was showing. In any case, it was a shrewd move by the kitchen. I rarely order ravioli, but this was the best thing I ate all night.
Heritage pork was no mere boast. The braised meat - in pieces, not ground - was tasty, the ravioli wrappers exquisitely delicate, and Fiore Sardo melted smoothly into the earthy sauce. A destination dish.
The main dishes won't scare anyone. Chicken or beef, lobster or scallops. Had I known how good the ravioli would be, I might have ordered the heritage pork chop, but I had already succumbed to poetic aptness and asked for saddle of lamb.
Saddle, cannon or loin, it's that tender piece of the sheep which relies somewhat on a wrapping of fat or a flavored crust to enrich its flavor. The kitchen attempted both strategies. One piece of meat was roofed with pine-nuts (something sweet too - servers did not give prolonged descriptions of the dishes when they arrived). The other was skirted with fat. Unfortunately, cooking at a low temperature - I suspect - had not encouraged the fat to crisp. It was kind of chewy; something which could be solved with a quick blast of heat. Wilted romaine and neat, crunchy cubes of polenta completed the plate.
Although food prices here are not outrageous (high, but not outrageous), servers will encourage you to order a side. The lamb dish needed one, and I asked for the fingerlings.
I got the cauliflower instead, which I took to be a lesson, and I enjoyed it. Firm, roasted florets highlighted with Pecorino Sardo.
The drink conundrum is solved by looking at the bottle list. Where one would expect to find an inventory of showy Bordeaux and Barolos (there are a few), one actually comes across a balanced choice with a number of items in the $30 to $40 range. The Piancarda Conero Rosso from Garofoli, a flinty, mouthwatering sangiovese, is fairly priced at $42. It makes more sense to order this, even if you leave half the bottle, than a couple of glasses of pinot. (No, I didn't leave half the bottle.)
With no cheese in sight, a simple dessert. Pistachio cake drizzled with honey.
Unless you go a teetotal route, dinner here will set you back more than $100 a head, but not a lot more. Geoffrey Zakarian is the presiding genius, and has been photographed in the dining room, but I am going to offer credit for a pleasant meal along classic lines to the guy in the kitchen, Joel Dennis.
The half-built website is here.
