New York Restaurants by Area – Page 13 – Writing With My Mouth Full

Centovini

25 West Houston Street between Greene and Mercer
212/219.2113
$196 for two, with five drinks, without tip
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I knew I shouldn’t have ordered the $22 glass of Barolo but the guy behind the bar gave me a taste after I picked the $16 Muraglie and convinced me that it was the better way to go. It was a very good glass of wine and I gingerly drank it with the meats and cheeses that we ordered as appetizers, as well as with the asparagus salad topped with fried duck prosciutto and egg. For $20, we had a choice of five cheeses and salumis: we split the cacciatorini, the sweet coppa, the finocchiona and the Calcagno with the Testun al Barolo. I loved the subtle spring taste of the trout main dish with the fava beans, sprouts and sweet peas; a few pieces of morels upped the price to $28.

I have walked by Centovini several times but never paid much attention to it because it looked far too dark from the outside. I thought the space would be a little too romantic to meet a friend, so I was surprised at how bright it actually was inside. We sat at the bar under the massive mirrored lamp and even felt like a surgery can be done right on the marble-top counter. The rest of the restaurant is quite handsome, with a beautiful wall of wine shelves in one end and a lounge area in another.

The service was unobtrusive because they knew to leave us alone the entire time we were there. The bartender seemed to just show up whenever we needed to refill our wine glasses. And as to not interrupt our conversation, we would nod and just give him an okay–that makes for a very hefty bill after two and a half hours.

You can still get away with a much simpler dinner–and less wine–before heading to Angelika Theater without spending too much. A three-course prix-fixe is available every night for just $38 while brunch on weekends goes for $18. Centovini isn’t Lupa but I think it’s a good spot to start the night off right. Just make sure you don’t order the Barolo.

Tsuki

1410 First Avenue between 74th and 75th Streets
212/517.6860
$105 for two, with drinks, with tip
♥ ♥

I have to be honest with you here: I’m not one hundred per cent sure I was at Tsuki. I’m pretty sure it was Tsuki because it’s one of the restaurants I have noted on my iPhone, but I have so many pending reviews I think I might have some of them mixed up. It wasn’t that the food was forgettable–as far as omakase sushi goes that won’t break the bank, the selection was pretty fresh and pretty good. There was nothing stunning about the interior because there was hardly any decor, and really, only this photo survived that night:

I’m a little embarrassed that I’m showing my age here, but I’ve racked my brain and I still can’t confirm that it’s Tsuki I’m supposed to be reviewing. Help me out and I’ll edit later, but let me continue and tell you about the place anyway.

We walked in around 930pm on a weeknight. Everyone else decided to stay indoors because it was cold out, but we were hungry after attending a retail store party with free sparkling wine. There were already two couples and a single diner sitting at the short bar, and because we always prefer to sit by the chef, we waited for our turn to sit there. Everyone left at the same time and we were able to move after only ten minutes. For the rest of the night, there were only three people with us inside: the chef, who also doubled as the dishwasher; the waitress, who could have been the chef’s wife and who also answered the phone; and a white guy in chef’s whites who returned from a food delivery but settled behind the bar after he had removed his coat.

It certainly looked like a family business with, perhaps, the white guy as an apprentice, but they seemed like they needed an extra hand or two to make things run smoothly. We ordered our sushi piece by piece from the chef because he looked like he couldn’t handle more than two orders at once. He fulfilled orders that were called in and he ran back and forth from the kitchen to get clean serving plates. Meanwhile, the waitress picked up the phone, cleared the tables and packed deliveries while also refilling our water glasses.

It took us two hours to go through a dozen sushi pieces each but we killed time by drinking Sapporo and cold sake. Although some of them fell apart while I tried to eat them, the restaurant had a varied selection that included hokigai, or red clam. The mackerel was great and the uni was fresh. After a while, eating there felt like we were in the Japanese couple’s dining room: we waited to be served; they waited for our feedback. We spoke in hushed tones and bowed every time plates were exchanged. We were comfortable and an inconvenience at the same time, staying after every guest had already left. I’m not sure if the frail couple reminded me of my parents but I felt very melancholy the whole time I was there; watching them work so hard to keep the night, and their business, alive. Sadness and sushi don’t make a good combination and maybe that’s why I’ve blocked the restaurant name out of my head.

Keens Steakhouse

72 West 36th Street between Fifth and Sixth Avenues
212/947.3636
$130 for two, with drinks, with tip
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To celebrate my getting a new job during these harsh economic times, the Dr. took me to Keens Steakhouse for their legendary mutton chops. I think I might have to keep him around for a while.

The meat from a sheep less than twelve months old is called lamb, and as we all know, is usually tender and mild in flavor. The meat from an older sheep is called mutton, and for reasons I can’t find on the Web, is not as popular on New York City menus as lamb. Someone please explain why I can’t enjoy mutton much more often! We ordered it medium-rare and it was perfectly bloody and hefty. Keens wouldn’t be the only Herald Square Theater District survivor today if they haven’t been this consistent since 1885.

For lack of better wording, mutton is more manly. I felt stronger and more carnivorous when I was eating it even though we were sharing one $45 chop. There is no lack of male reminders at Keens–the collection of churchwarden pipes from old customers cover the ceiling, from Teddy Roosevelt’s to General Douglas MacArthur’s. Walking in, you’d think you’ve entered a museum rather than a restaurant. If it wasn’t for Lillie Langtry, actress and paramour of King Edward of England, taking Keens to court in 1905 for having denied her access to its gentlemen-only premises, it will still be a rendezvous of the men’s club today. She won her case, swept into Keens in her feathered boa and ordered like a man.

Mr. Jones Yakitori

243 East 14th Street between Third and Second Avenues
212/253.7670
$222 for four, with drinks, with tip
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Update, 2009: My Deathwatch prediction came true after only a month.

Oy, I’m putting Mr. Jones Yakitori on a Deathwatch. I don’t know why anyone would open a yakitori restaurant a few blocks away from St. Marks Place where yakitori joints are a dime a dozen. I immediately looked around for the grill when I went in, but I only saw booths for group diners. Upon entering, you immediately realized it’s that type of place. The decor reminded me of some of the worst Thai places in the city where mod is the predominant theme and the restaurant converts into a club come the weekend. I just know that I regret paying over $200 for a mediocre dinner for four. Good thing my companions, two of whom were Japanese, had a good sense of humor.

The foie gras inside the meatballs were barely noticeable. The bowl of rice cooked in butter and truffle oil was, admittedly, an unnecessary selection but it was even more ridiculous that they charged $9 for it. The yakitori pieces that would have cost us $3 apiece elsewhere were $5, while a pair of chicken ones came in for $7. Everything added up quickly and we accumulated a pretty long list of small bites. If we brought our boys with us, they would have complained at how hungry they still were after all that expense. Heck, I wanted a slice of pizza on my way home! (If you know my relationship with pizza, you would know that that’s saying a lot.)

The waitstaff were pretty, and though they were attentive, none of them looked like they appreciated Japanese food. I wouldn’t be asking them the difference between kobe and wagyu beef anytime soon. But then again, they might not be around even if I wanted to.

Kyo-ya

94 East 7th Street between First and Avenue A
212/982.4140
$130 for two, with drinks, with tip
♥ ♥

I’d like to think that kaiseki is Japan’s answer to Spain’s tapas if only a pincho is served in bejeweled bread held together by a hand-carved toothpick. The most basic types of food need to go a long way in a kaiseki meal, so presentation is key to make them more appealing. For the Japanese, it’s an aesthetic experience.

I remember my first meal at Morimoto where a selection of fine sashimi was served on a large porcelain square container. The tub was so ridiculously big that it took attention away from the fish. Sometimes, you only need the most humble utensil to appreciate a skillfully-executed dish, no? At Kyo-ya, however, the attention to both food and presentation are pretty much equal: both are of very high quality. A very simple mackerel roll was beautifully presented with edible flower petals, while the uni came on top of a miniature bale of hay. The fish was served on a small mat woven together with a soft piece of thread while a twig of what looked like mistletoe stuck out of the crushed ice. Even the wasabi was on onion-skin paper I’ve only seen used for truffles. The accessories seem unnecessary, but Kyo-ya makes them so delicately that they don’t come off cheesy. Each order, even our very simple udon soup and plate of grilled sardines, came out looking like very special gifts.