[Pigging by Wilfrid: March 4, 2013]
Should the headline be something obvious about a pearl from the ashes? The ashes of Frej, that is, the warmly praised Williamsburg pop-up with the elusive reservation system.
The two Frej chefs, Fredercik Berselius and Richard Kuo, have moved in sharply divergent directions.
The night I ate there, Capiello was an ebullient front-of-house presence, and he had friends in the restaurant exploring the upper reaches of a very long list on which, for example, only six of 30 Bordeaux's are priced under $100. It tops out at just under $1,000 for the 1999 Haut Brion (you can find it retail in New York for $375).
The couple next to me, with or without Capiello's help, had hit on the 1990 Phelan-Segur, which is a stone bargain at $90. Wines by the glass are mostly a reasonable $10-$12.
There's no hard liquor, by the way, but cocktails are offered based on the comprehensive library of aperitivi behind the bar.
In contrast to the ambitious wine prorgam, the menu is relatively short and--currently, at least--quite inexpensive. Not only are there small plates--once known as "appetizers," but the meat and fish dishes can be ordered in small or full portions; and the small portions, quite honestly, were generous. They could even be shared.
The cooking is subtle in conception, not always--but these are early days--in execution. Make no mistake, this is not the "new Nordic" as seen at Aska, the original Isa, Acme, or (from everything I've seen) Frej. In style, this is the populist small plate cooking which has raged across downtown from the Stanton Social to Spitzer's Corner to Boulton & Watt. You might think it's better done here, or smarter, and you may be right. But it's not revolutionary.
I started with the octopus, which neatly demonstrated the (far from unbridgeable) gulf between idea and reality. The tentacles sit twenty-four hours in a dry chili rub (call it togarashi to sound smart), and is then slow cooked in rice wine. So far, so good, and it truly has a kick. But the final step is a quick fry, which turns the thinner tentacles black and chewy--some might even say burnt. The thicker pieces show how the dish might work.
Duck confit with red cabbage and celery turned out to be breaded, fried duck nuggets over a red cabbage purée. Inadvertently, I'm sure, breaded duck confit is straight out of the Boulton & Watt playbook (thankfully without the potato), and suffered the same problem. The supple, tender, moist flesh turns kind of dry and dull when breaded and fried. The meat was underseasoned too. The cabbage was strangely funky--maybe some wine added?
Conversely, the chermoula rub on the skate fillet made it as salty as it needed to be. Al dente leeks were probably deliberate; I prefer my leeks tender. A flinty Spanish white, the Mayrit, probvided necessary balance.
A comped side arrived at this point, and it was very good, although it underlined the kitchen's appetite for little fried bites. This was a version of patatas bravas, the invention lying in the unusual porcini mayo and crumbled chorizo.
The potatoes went well with the skate, and with the meat dish too: veal cheek, forbidden rice, daikon, dill. This was the stand-out of the evening, and an indication of how fine the food could consistently be. I'm not sure how the cheeks were prepared, but they hadn't been braised to stringy pieces. They were firm, biteable, textured almost like tongue.
The thin-sliced daikon worked as a refreshing garnish. I'd have preferred to take the forbidden rice straight, but the kitchen had done the thing where it turns it into little, chewy, fried nuggets. I drank the Paolo Conterno with this dish.
Almost no choice for dessert, and everyone was getting the ice cream sandwich. This wouldn't be my usual choice, but it's a grown-up version, bitter with Fernet-Branca, and I really liked it.
On a weekend evening, the restaurant was almost full. It will soon be hard to get a seat. The lighting is dim; the multiple alcoves on the walls, packed with tchtockes, seem to shrink the space. Bar seats are wooden blocks, hard to manoeuvre; if you sit at a table, you get a cushion on your stool. I'd want a chair with a back to it if I was ordering multiple-hundred-dollar Bordeaux and Burgundies, but that's just me.
This place is going to be a fabulous hit. The food needs a little help to catch up with the glamor.
Website here.
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