[Pigging by Wilfrid: November 24, 2014]
Let's give thanks, in Thanksgiving week, for a new restaurant which stimulates the appetite, palate, imagination--and intellect. Because Enrique Olvera's Cosme throws into sharp relief many vital questions about eating out in New York today.
More than this review can raise and address, in fact. The short version: it's a fine restaurant--go and enjoy.
The long version could start in Mexico City, where chef Olvera opened a small but very fine restaurant called Pujol, around the dawn of the millenium. By repute, Pujol is the best restaurant in Mexico, and one of the world's top dining destinations. Less conventionally, it could start with the so-called Nordic invasion--a dining aesthetic which has gained more than a foothold in New York over the past two or three years. Or it could start with Patria, the bold, exciting rendition of Latin American fine dining which Douglas Rodriguez launched just around the corner from Cosme in 1994, and closed about a year before Pujol opened.
But let's calm down and start with some corn chips and the basic facts. The chips are thick, chewy, and earthy. Like all the other corn-based components of Cosme's menu, they're made from various heirloom corns imported from small producers in Mexico. My server was so proud of this, he made a short, impromptu speech about it towards the end of my meal. The restaurant is also importing peppers, beans, and probably other things--presumably including the smoky habañero peppers and fresh cheese in the dip for the chip.
Cosme is located on a dismal block just off the Park Avenue South restaurant strip, where Douglas Rodriguez once taught us that Latin-American food was colorful, spicy, vividly flavored, and if be well made with solid ingredients could make the fine dining grade. Step off the gloomy street and your enveloped by Cosme's muted amber glow. There's a large bar and dining area in the front, then another large dining in the rear (where I sat). Music plays, but at sensible volume. The greeting at the door is personable and enthusiastic--in fact, service at Cosme excels from the website reservation system right through to the cheerful goodnight as you leave.
And that light. The tall, bare walls glow. Above, the room recedes into darkness beyond exposed girders. Diners are kindly lit. But precisely directed spotlights mean you can see what you're eating very clearly indeed. After visiting several restaurants recently where the food could scarcely be made out through the murk, this was a blessing. Look.
That's the burrata with "weeds." And a clear early signal that Cosme is miles from the beaten track of spicy glazed things, and melted queso, and finely-tuned tacos. There's a clear route in my mind from Douglas Rodriguez to Aaron Sanchez, with Alex Stupak on a branch line, and the Black Ant on a slightly surreal parallel track.
But when you cut into a creamy, house-made burrata, and combine it with a deliberately charred salsa verde, and the grassy outdoor hit of fresh dandelions and cilantro, you're confronted with a quite different vision. Mexican food driven by a global--in a good way, I think--sensibility. And I've already lost anyone looking for, at last, an authentic reproduction of the cuisine of Tlaxcala or Durango.
Which brings me to an important confession. I've never visited Mexico, and therefore I've never eaten at the high-end restaurants of the country--certainly not at Pujol--so I can't Cosme in that context, and tell you that it's typica, a-typical, or better or worse. I'm laying out my alternative context quite explicitly. It is notable, though, that Cosme functions smoothly on a much larger scale than Pujol (twice the covers, or maybe more).
First minor complaint. By all means sprinkly pieces of corn chip on the burrata, but make it a different chip from the one you've just served every diner to kick off the meal.
I shouldn't have ordered another cheese-centric dish--my fault--but I wanted to sample something which at least sounded like a mainstream Mexican menu item. Enfrijoladas, then, stuffed with ricotta. Some different cheese scattered on the plate. Queso blanco, let's call it. Leaves of fragrant hoja santa. And an intriguing mahogany sauce, delicately chocolate-and-coffee-flavored, carefully spiced.
Not--everyone says--the famous, long-aged mole served at Pujol. And you wouldn't think it was. This is restrained, sober, graceful; very good to eat with the soft rolls of tortilla and cheese. Second minor complaint: the strips of raw onion certainly contrasted with the gentle flavors of the dish, but in a harsh manner.
To get the third and last minor complaint out of the way, the menu is too tightly edited when it comes to the main savory courses (actually, size of dish doesn't vary much as you go down the menu). There's a $45 bonanza of duck carnitas for two people, which may be great for two people who want to eat duck. Other than that, there's steak, lobster, mackerel, or chilaquiles. Unless you're the kind of diner who thinks a strip steak is going to show off what the kitchen can do, that's a fairly narrow choice.
So lobster, and you wouldn't know from the menu that it was going to come with more tortillas (after the corn chips and the enfrijoladas, that would have made me hesitate). But in fact it was a joy to confront a pile of steaming, house-made tortillas in the nude. They're excellent. And indeed, you'll be eating a few of them with minimal garnish, because the lobster isn't going to stretch to fill all of them.
I was happy making little tacos from the claw and piece of tail meat--actually tender--and the dense pedestal of black beans on which they sat. As I got into the plate, I found hot, spicy ground chorizo, nicely oily, which played variations as I continued to eat.
A full serving of lobster? No, but it's a $24 dish, and the ingredients are good. As for pricing generally, you'll want to order three savory plates before dessert; they vary widely in price, starting at $12 for the mussel tostada, but other than the steak, everything is under thirty dollars per serving. With modest drinks, you'll pay $120 to $130, all in--and feel like you've eaten a much more expensive meal.
Drinks? Cocktails are divided between Mexican classics and signatures. The "Jack be Nimble," which features two whiskies and two rums, corn syrup, and mole bitters is aromatic, potent, and poured big. Cocktails are $14, and wines by the glass congregate around that median. There are some boutique bottles on the list (for a moment, I teased the charming sommelier with the possibility I might sample the $440 Corsican amphora). The Portuguese white, the Encruzado, is a good choice. There are countless tequilas and mezcals, for those who understand these things.
Am I saving the best until last? The Pink Pig, who can never remember dessert? Well, yes, this one is sensationally good.
Husk meringue, corn mousse. Doesn't really do it justice, because that mousse has a gripping sour center to it, to balance the sweetness of the husk. All made from that heirloom corn which inspired my server's appropriate disquisition on the subject. This may not sound like what you want, but the deep, bass notes of the corn echo on your palate long after you've cleared the plate; even after you've left the restaurant. This is dessert with a long, long finish.
I haven't even begun to address the challenge Cosme throws down to some dominant memes in contemporary New York dining. Here, nothing is in your face--least of all the flavors. If you don't appreciate elegant, mature, disciplined cooking, you'll find this very disappointing. Simply, this is the anti-Carbone, the anti-Dirty French, the anti-M.Wells, the anti-Gato (and I liked Gato). It fits much more appropriately--to my astonishment--into a category which also contains Aska, Contra, perhaps Atera, and--by report--Luksus. Who'd have thought?
Taking into account the outstanding service, and the setting and prices as well as the food, it's the best opening of 2014.
Here's the website.
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