The city that never sleeps doesn't stop eating, either. Three of my favourite flavours in New York right now are newcomers that expand on what it means to be a French bistro, a ramen joint and a good host.
Ramen and (much) more
Ask the owner of one of the most successful ramen joints in the city what he expects from a good bowl, and Ivan Orkin, a Long Island native with a restaurant in Japan to his credit, is quick to boil his answer down to a few key points: The noodle and the soup have to match; a diner has to be able to easily slurp the noodle into his mouth; and the soup should stick to the ramen, so that every bite tastes of the full recipe.
The chili-red ramen with minced pork and smashed egg at Ivan Ramen brims with all the above attributes. Noodles flavoured with rye make the meal more special. The fire is best preceded by ice, in the form of shaved pickled daikon garnished with dried scallops and shrimp and a lashing of chili oil. “I'll eat it if you don't,” our server says about the cool white threads. (She never stood a chance.)
Ivan Ramen's seven soups have plenty of competition on the menu: pork ribs braised in dashi, crisped in the oven and offered with yuzu catsup; deep-fried chicken hearts and livers delivered with a honey-mustard sauce; and pork meatballs made fluffy with tofu. The one dish I can't wait to repeat is Orkin's citrusy riff on Cajun dirty rice. Its funk comes from monkfish liver, its pulse from chipotle.
This enticing food is served in a narrow restaurant on the Lower East Side, a part of the city Orkin appreciates as much for its neighbours as its fair-for-New York rents. “I'm a big diner guy,” he says of the style he has tried to bring to Ivan Ramen. Fingers crossed, you land at the counter facing the exposed kitchen in the back, where the cooks are framed in cartoons of diners so vivid they almost seem animated. Two of the characters are from “Tampopo,” the ramen-western Orkin calls “my favourite movie of all time.”
Your stay might be brief; ramen is fast food. Only (fond) memories of the place run long.
25 Clinton St., New York
www.ivanramen.com.
Snacks, ramen and other dishes.
Dirty tricks
Want to taste genius? Ask for the mille-feuille at Dirty French inside the boutique Ludlow Hotel on the Lower East Side.
Everything about the dish comes as a surprise, starting with the fact that it's an appetizer rather than a dessert. Standing in for the usual “pastry” are paper-thin trumpet mushrooms folded over (and over) one another in alternating layers with butter, then cooked in a terrine and finished on a plancha. Half the pleasure of eating the construction is watching it collapse like an accordion as your fork makes short work of it. The slippery ribbons are luscious on their own but grow transcendent after a swipe through the fiery, grass-green curry pooled on their plate. Hello, Bangkok!
The menu reads like a classic French bistro and eats like, well, a restaurant on some wonderful pharmaceuticals. “Dirty” gives the kitchen license to thrill, or at least to innovate. Instead of baguettes and butter, diners ease in with warm, Moroccan-style flatbread offered with herbed fromage blanc, and the stellar trout meuniere arrives in a light coat of sesame seeds. The banh mi offered at lunch packs in duck confit and foie gras: Vietnam by way of Escoffier. Carefully shucked oysters, gathered on ice in a shell-shaped bowl, demonstrate that the kitchen knows not to mess with perfection from the deep blue sea. Chef Rich Torrisi studied under Daniel Boulud, and the training shows in the mostly exacting food. (Torrisi and his partners are the forces behind Carbone, the retro Italian retreat in Greenwich Village.)
Like the cooking, the setting is a hybrid. Red velvet banquettes, a gigantic mirror trimmed with light bulbs and a chandelier that would look at home in a castle lend a theatrical air. A collection of faux roosters and pink neon lights announcing the restaurant out front reveal Dirty French's cheeky side.
Ice cream for dessert may seem vanilla, but the house-churned scoops find takers scraping the silver bowl clean. Mint chocolate peanut? My only regret is that I can't buy the flavour by the gallon back home.
180 Ludlow St., New York
www.dirtyfrench.com
California dreamin'
Imagine my surprise when I stroll into one of the most popular reservations in Manhattan on a Saturday - early, unknown as a critic, and without my entire party - and the hostess asks me not to wait in the bar, but if I'd like to go directly to my table. “You can get a drink there, too, you know,” she says.
Upland, the latest dining gift from Philadelphia restaurant mogul Stephen Starr, has me at hello on Park Avenue South. Up front, and throughout dinner, it telegraphs the message: “We're lucky to have you with us,” a sentiment contrary to almost every hot spot in New York that isn't owned by Danny Meyer, the king of kindness.
Named for the town in Southern California where chef Justin Smillie was born, Upland isn't just gracious. The dining room, expansive by New York standards, also draws customers with its generous tables, a barn-size ceiling and multiple shelves of jars of preserved lemons, lit up with LEDs. The latter cast a dreamy glow across the space, which is attended to by servers as cheerful as their checkered shirts.
Smillie's menu could just as well be his resume. Before Upland, he cooked at the very good Il Buco Alimentari e Vineria; Jonathan Waxman, a pioneer of California cuisine, was a mentor. Those biographical details should have you sharing a pizza (pear with pecan pesto and a drizzle of balsamic is terrific), ordering a pasta (any of them) and eating your vegetables (“five lettuce” Caesar dressed with anchovy vinaigrette tastes straight out of Alice Waters' garden). The chef's spin on chicken wings uses duck wings that have been cured, fried and seasoned with a paste of chili pepper and yuzu peel. After gnawing on them, you won't want to go back to the little guys. Cioppino captures fresh fish and tangy tomato in every bite; slow-cooked lamb neck sparked with preserved lemon and served on polenta should apply for copyright protection.
Can the evening possibly get better? A generous bowl of salted caramel custard suggests that yes, yes, it can.
345 Park Ave. South, New York
www.uplandnyc.com.
Tom Sietsema, The Washington Post