Merry Mary, Queen Of Scots

[Pigging by Wilfrid:  January 10, 2011]

Casting the tea leaves or reading the auguries, one would have to say that naming a restaurant for a young woman executed for treason at the age of twenty-four was teasing fate.  I mean, it's not The Titanic, but it's hardly a happy association.

It's also a challenge to open on a persistently dark and dismal block which failed to support Allen & Delancey once it had run out of "name" chefs.  But on the other hand.

The owners have had a rollicking hit with their whisky bar and dining room Highlands in Greenwich Village, packing them in while Bar Blanc, a few steps away, withered and died.  They know something about throwing a party, something too about attracting the British ex pat tribes of the city, and something about food and drink.

Indeed, in the early days of Mary (as I shall impertinently call her), the party was swinging.  I imbibed a cocktail or two while British celebrities of stage and song networked happily to a soundtrack of Elton John and The La's.  It was almost too loud to think about eating.

The design reverses the logic of what was once Allen & Delancey, pushing the bar almost to the rear - creating, thereby, ample space for the un-American practice of standing and drinking - and lining the front-half of the restaurant with booths and tables.  This is not the best idea during the chill months of January and February, when diners will feel exposed to the weather, even if they are not.

There is another, cozy dining space at the very back, beyond the bar.   It's a luxury inn sort of look; carefully distressed woodiness complemented by smart splashes of tartan here and there.  The booth seats, leather base and tartan fabric backs, are very comfortable.  The music, which is lively and continues to be largely, but not exclusively, from over the pond (more Blur and The Undertones than The Ramones), is sharply audible throughout.

The menu, like that of Highlands, is that of a "contemporary gastropub," and since I am weary of explaining that the original gastropub movement was one which rejected rather than updated traditional British food, I'll take it at face value.  In New York 2011, the epithet implies dishes of discernible British origins, plus a few ringers, modernized and - if you're lucky - carefully composed. 

 

Fries come not only with ketchup but with yellow curry sauce.  Nothing, truly, could be more Scottish.

I wonder if it's my British background which makes the menu seem, in stretches, somewhat dull.  Sausage rolls, after all, are not exotic to me.  Nor are "devils on horseback," although chutney-stuffed dates are wrapped in bacon here, rather than the more usual prunes.  Still, it's pleasing to see such delicacies on a restaurant menu.  It was the entrée choice which underwhelmed.  There's chicken and salmon and a burger - but the Burgundy reduction (for the bird), Scottish heritage (for the fish) and Piedmontese credentials (for the sandwich) were not enough to set my heart racing.  Scallops and bacon at least comes with an unusual garnish of brussel sprouts and parsnips (baby squid is teamed with root vegetables among the appetizers too).

My solution was to lean heavily toward the smaller plates.  The veal cheek terrine is house-made, studded not only with pistachios but, unconventially, with chestnuts.  The latter, for those not raised on them, are not unlike potatoes in taste and texture.  Here they're finely diced.  Seasoning a terrine is a difficult business, but a shake of salt brought the flavors out. 

The boudin noir, or "black pudding" as the British would have it, was also slightly underseasoned, but otherwise very good.  The practice of filling a casing with pig's blood and other ingredients and treating it like a sausage is international, of course.  The results are surprisingly various, depending on the spicing and the incorporation (or absence) of carb makeweights like rice.  Here oats make an appearance in a pudding with a decidedly Scottish flavor and feel.  Far from the smooth Latin morcilla so readily obtainable around town, this is a fluffy, crumbly version of the dish, arriving as a large puck on a smear of apple purée.  It has an authentic peppery bite.

I think there was a misreading of the menu, because I had thought the haricots verts dish (the Scots love to practice their French) was an appetizer, and thus potentially warm.  It was a salad, cold, and probably not the best thing to order on a night below freezing.  Beans tossed with cherry tomatoes with diced squash.  A dollop of sour cream hidden within seemed completely out of place.

Cassoulet, curiously, does appear as an appetizer rather than an entrée.  Assuming it's made in quantity, I am not sure why they don't offer a full portion, but it's heated in a small individual ramekin.  Rabbit is used instead of duck (a perfectly good idea), there are two kinds of beans, white and brown (not canonical, but introducing a contrast in texture), and there's sausage and bits of smoky pork too.

I am not sure why garlic bread is offered with the cassoulet, which is filling enough as it is.

A vegetable tart with "ratatoutille" vegetables sounded like some kind of quiche, but turned out to be quite different in concept.  A square pie, rather than a tart, reminded me of a burek or brik, phyllo pastry stuffed with cheese.  The ratatoutille stew serves as a kind of sauce.

Courtesy demands I credit Will Hickox with charge of the kitchen, because for once I am going to mention the pastry chef too.  Heather Giacone would deserve acknowledgement for the walnut sorbet alone, a khaki-colored marvel of flavor, much better eaten than looked at.  A cranberry upside down cake was enjoyable too, and architecturally spiffy.

The wine selection is brief and inexpensive, and the reds by the glass, while well-priced, were not thrilling.  There's a beer-list too, but the bar's passion lies with liquor and cocktails.  You can get an Old Fashioned or a Rob Roy here, made with a good single malt, if that's your taste.  I liked the unusual, Cognac-based Sazerac.  Food prices are pleasingly pubby - around twenty for mains, but all kinds of snacks and charcuterie for around $7.

And no bagpipes.  Except on Burns night.