By Linnea Covington

The first time I traveled to Chennai, India, my uncle-by-marriage swore the best cup of coffee could be found at Saravanaa Bhavan, a restaurant specializing in classic South Indian vegetarian fare. Naturally, we had to try it.

As they served us metal bowls containing tiny metal cups filled with steaming, light brown liquid, my Americanized coffee snobbery blossomed. Visions of glorious pounds of fresh roasted beans and hot mugs of black-as-night coffee and a general distaste for the world of sweet coffeeshop chains flitted by, but with a single sip, those recollections faded. The coffee was at once creamy, sweetish and comforting, with bold coffee back notes—indeed, the finest I tried in the whole country.

Imagine my joy to find the same coffee being served at Saravanaa Bhavan’s New York locations, now two since one opened on the Upper West Side. The original shop opened 30 years ago in Chennai, but it wasn’t until 2002 that they made their United States debut in California before coming to New York’s Curry Hill in 2005.

The best part about the expansion is that the restaurants not only bring an authentic taste of South Indian fare, they remain consistent throughout all their locations, a far cry from McDonald’s ever-changing menu dependent upon the country. The food they serve also proves healthy, flavorful, fresh and delightfully authentic.

I have now eaten at four of their locations: the original, a New Delhi shop and the two in New York. Each one is identical in food, save for the addition of a tandoori oven and vegetarian curries at the uptown restaurant. Their decision to add dishes including the savory, slightly spicy aloo gobi (cauliflower and potato), rib-sticking mutter paneer (green peas and cottage cheese) and sweetly caramelized dal butter fry (butter-fried onion, tomatoes and lentil), was made in an attempt to speak to the neighborhood, the manager said. A good call, given the demographics of the Upper West Side and the general acceptance people give to curry.

While the foundation remains the same, the dosa at Saravanaa Bhavan are something else entirely. Some, like the paper dosa, measure over a foot long and most 10-year-old children could comfortably put an arm through it. The ghee masala dosa also boasts this unique shape; inside is a layer of scrumptious potatoes and onions sprinkled with ghee, also known as clarified butter. The dosa breaks off like a cracker in some spots and you can dip it into an array of chutneys including coconut, coriander-coconut, tomato and a sauce called sambar (a vegetable stew flavored with tamarind).

Other classic south Indian dishes offered are the spongy idly, a little rice cake that proves especially fun to eat in a bowl of sambar, and vada, their version of a doughnut made with lentils instead of sugar. The tandoori oven has done the newest location well too, as the buttery garlic naan and tandoor roti come out fluffy, piping hot and perfectly cooked.

Another difference the Upper West Side location sports comes out in the setting. At the newest shop, the dim lights add a more romantic atmosphere and a coziness fitting for the neighborhood. It still gets busy, but the intimate space doesn’t have the capacity for bustle (though the dishes do come out quickly). Overall, for someone looking to try a cuisine different from the basic American perception of what Indian food consists of, Saravanaa Bhavan is the real deal.

By Regan Hofmann

Hit the gift shop, skip the restaurant.

Unless you’re part of a tour group, hypoglycemic or having a day out with your nana, this has always been the accepted wisdom for museum visits. If you happen to be an unlucky member of one of these groups, you can look forward to a selection of dry sandwiches, a steam-table entrée and a sweaty, pre-cut cheese plate. The best to be hoped for is a tolerable wine to drown your sorrows and some art to remind you of the reason you’re there.

In recent years, Danny Meyer, the prolific and preternaturally successful restaurateur (so uniquely prodigious, in fact, that Eater.com now hands out a “Danny Meyer Empire Builder of the Year” award) has been fighting the good fight against this institutional ignominy.

He first tackled MoMA, opening The Modern, a mannered, genteel restaurant accessible from the museum via a corridor or by its own street-facing entrance. You might stop in there for lunch after getting your fill of de Kooning’s women, but you’d check to make sure you were well-dressed first. Nearer to the galleries are two additional cafés that, while offering genuinely edible food, have the quick-stop, your-tour-bus-is-waiting feeling of museum cafés everywhere.

Photo by Nicole Franzen

Now there is Untitled at the Whitney, which successfully blends the two approaches to provide a dining experience that could easily succeed on its own merits set squarely inside a museum. To achieve this, Meyer called Gramercy Tavern executive sous chef Chris Bradley up to the big leagues and tasked him with creating two separate menus: casual classics for the museum crowd and interesting New American for weekend dinners.

Daytime gives us a take on New York diner culture, all-day breakfast and lunch featuring pancakes and eggs, sandwiches and salads. Every dish is carefully considered, and nothing is offered out of obligation—unlike your corner coffee shop, of whose sprawling menu maybe one-third is worth ordering. With a smaller kitchen, the restaurant outsources many of its baking duties to partners like Balthazar Bakery and Four and Twenty Blackbirds to great effect. But there’s plenty that is unexpectedly housemade—like the sausage and pastrami—all of which is spot-on.

At night, the three-course, prix fixe menu is short and sweet, changing weekly to keep things seasonal, fresh and playful. Each course has just two or three options, and common side dishes are brought out with the entrées. These assimilate to varying degrees with the rest of the meal, depending on how you’ve chosen (a three-grain pilaf was an unnecessary starch boost for gnocchi but the perfect complement to a seafood stew), but are a pleasantly familial touch.

Wines are much better than tolerable; a concise list of American whites and reds by the glass or bottle. With such a short list, there is no room for error—surprisingly, though, there is plenty of room for eye-catching rarities, like the “Giuliano,” from Cameron Winery in Oregon, a remarkably food-friendly blend imported especially for the restaurant.

The space is comfortable, chic but sparse. Blond wood tables and low-slung black chairs fill the center of the room, ringed by padded banquettes. The bar is the same blond wood crowned with a chalkboard that displays the menu. The true accomplishment is the atmosphere at night, when the residual glare from the lobby above is parlayed, with candles and strategically placed pin-lights, into a cozy den where you can still read the menu.

Adjacent to the restaurant, in the space that used to be the downstairs gift shop extension, is a sleek waiting area to hold the inevitable crowd at peak brunching hours. One wall is devoted to a more-interesting-than-necessary Lawrence Weiner installation, a play on the theme “Here There & Everywhere” to ponder while you wait for your table.

It’s the only physical reminder that you are inside a museum full of iconic work, but there’s little chance you’ll forget where you are as you eat—the meal itself is an act of cultural appreciation. Take your nana, your tour group, or your hypoglycemic buddy here to show them what museum dining has the potential to be. Maybe they’ll think twice about those dry sandwiches next time.

By Tom Steele

Before I visited Spain for the first time, my friends warned me that I’d be disappointed by the cuisine there. On the contrary, I was not only completely beguiled, but the trip changed the way I cooked in several important ways. For example, as soon as I returned to New York, the first thing I did was get myself a good Spanish paella pan. Ever since, paella has almost always been my go-to dish for company—it’s so incredibly versatile, and you don’t have to spend hours in the kitchen; after a certain point, it just cooks itself.

El Porron offers a romantic, relaxed dining area.

Oddly, especially given how sensible, relatively economical and mostly salubrious the cuisine is, it’s surprising that there aren’t dozens upon dozens of good Spanish restaurants in Manhattan. But what we have is mostly very good. My favorite downtown Spaniards are Las Ramblas and the indefatigable El Faro (b. 1927); my favorite uptown is now El Porron.

The restaurant was named for an eccentric glass-drinking pitcher with a long spout that pours the wine directly into your mouth (well, with a little practice). It was opened one year ago by executive chef Gonzalo “Mr. G” Bermeo, his brother Mario, and his son, Diego, who also serves as a most charming and focused front-of-house director.

The jaunty restaurant sports a spacious bar area, agreeable even lighting, partially clothed high dark wood tables, glowing brick walls and currently a large sign saluting the restaurant’s first birthday, with “Happy Anniversary, El Porron” written entirely with rows of wine corks.

A pitcher of sangria—made with the traditional red, white or sparkling wines—is the way to begin. The red mixture is unusually bracing and just fruity enough to buoy the rioja and keep your interest to the last drop.

There are hot and cold tapas galore. From the cold roster, we sampled satiny slender slices of Serrano ham (only recently allowed to be sold or served in the United States), with flavors that really undulate on the palate. Toasted garlic bread and a juicy fresh tomato are along for the ride, but I was happy to devour just that incomparable ham.

If I had to pick one favorite cheese, it would probably be Manchego cheese, a sheep’s cheese that is absolutely ubiquitous in Spain, and is really coming into its own here, as well it should. El Porron offers the cheese with a nice raisin-pecan bread and honeyed quince paste.

Having been marinated in sherry vinegar, white anchovy fillets—none better—are draped across toasted slices of artisanal bread. Alongside, an endive spear is filled with a lush pico de gallo.

From among the hot tapas, octopus is lightly boiled and dribbled with Spanish olive oil, red wine vinegar and Spanish (smoked) Pimenton paprika, one of Spain’s most significant contributions to world cuisine. After my sojourn to Spain, I’ve never used Hungarian paprika again.

Fresh tiger shrimp are gently sautéed in garlicky olive oil, then sauced with a thoughtful Galician Albariño white wine sauce, and served in a ruddy ceramic cazuela. Go ahead and eat the still-attached brittle tail shell, as they do in Spain. It practically doubles the shrimp flavor.

On to the entrées (though many a Spaniard makes an entire evening meal from tapas): Tender veal scallops are watchfully sautéed with shiitake mushrooms, and the pan is deglazed with Oloroso sherry. The veal is plated with a spear of fresh rosemary, veal’s best friend.

Paella is proudly made “from scratch,” and takes 30-40 minutes, but if you order it when you order your tapas, everything will work out just right. Paella Marinera is the generous seafood route, and it’s extremely flavorful. The clams, mussels, squid, bay scallops and chunks of monkfish are brought together beautifully in the mound of short-grained rice stewed with red bell peppers and green peas.

We had just enough room for an evenly toasted egg flan, served in a volcano shape with coffee syrup dribbling out of the crater, all finished with slices of piquant and refreshing kiwi.

With dishes by turns authentic and creative served in a romantic and relaxing dining room, it’s certainly no wonder that El Porron has attracted a steady and devoted following—and not just denizens from the neighborhood. Clearly, people are coming to El Porron from all over the city.
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El Porron
1123 1st Ave. (at 61st Street)
212-207-8349
Entrées: $18-$30

By Shani R. Friedman

A few years ago, I was at this exact same spot when it was Jeffrey Chodorow’s Wild Salmon, the last of his multiple attempts to make the location successful. I had a great meal in a beautiful space, but it folded.

Now it’s chef Richard Sandoval’s turn. Perhaps the impresario behind 14 other restaurants around the world will have the Midas touch with his Asian and Latin fusion cuisine. Partner Placido Domingo, a friend of Sandoval’s, opened Zengo weeks after surgery, so things may already be looking up.

Zengo is invading midtown with scrumptious Asian Fusion cuisine and three levels of seating, a basement tequila bar and sake lounge.

When we arrived on a recent August night, my friend noted how enormous the restaurant is. There are 170 seats and three levels (the main floor, with the dark mood lighting, suspended wood beams, and wrought-iron screens, plus a basement tequila bar and sake lounge upstairs). The staff was accommodating as we tried out a table and two different booths before we found one that was just right. The two of us perused our menus at length since we had decided to forego large plates for some of the tantalizing smaller plates that showcase the different culinary cultures.

I finally decided on the ceviche tasting ($16) and the Peking duck-daikon tacos ($12). The two ceviches were the rainbow (with tuna, salmon and fluke) and the corvina, a fish I was unfamiliar with. Much to my surprise, the medley was not my favourite. The corvina, on the other hand, a simple preparation of onions, cucumbers and apples and shiso (Japanese basil), had the perfect balance of flavors between the fish, the citrus and the rest of the ingredients. My other dish was a fun, play-with-your-food experience because you have to put the mini tacos together yourself. The tartness and crispness of the curried apples was a good contrast to the duck confit.

My friend had a United Nations-style dinner and sampled the steamed buns al pastor ($12), the Thai chicken empanadas ($10), the vegetarian rolls ($10) and the yucca fries ($5). He didn’t love the buns, which lacked the expected release of steam and were more like stuffed pancakes, but the combination of Oaxaca cheese, mango-curry salsa and chile poblano in the empanadas really grabbed him. We both dug into the fries, which were thick, a little sweet—but less so than a plantain—and a bit salty.

Since there’s always room for dessert, I ordered the Mexican chocolate tart ($8) and he picked the lemon yuzu cake ($8), both of which looked like petite works of art. The cake was accompanied by ginger ice cream and Chinese five spice custard sauce. My tablemate said he could definitely taste the myriad spices in the sauce. My tart was adorned with cocoa nibs, cinnamon whip and chili ancho anglaise. It may be the best thing I’ve eaten all summer! I spooned it in tiny bites so that I could savour it for as long as possible.

I could have lingered in the comfortable booth for hours and let the very solicitous waitress keep refilling my water glass, but it was past my friend’s bedtime. Although it was a sleepy Sunday evening with just a few diners, people continued to come in as the hours passed. That’s a good sign for the restaurant having legs, which means I will get to go back and hopefully find the tequila snow cones still on the menu. To the staff I say, buenas suerte!

By Tom Steele

I can’t remember ever visiting a two-week-old restaurant that had its act so completely together. Credit must be bestowed on Tiella’s co-owner Mario Coppola, whose hands-on management style results in a tightly run ship. And Peppe Castellano’s Neapolitan cookery is as authentic as it is intensely delicious.

Tiella is as authentic as it as intensely delicious.

The restaurant is set in a fairly narrow bricky space. Golden Italianate lighting emanates from rows of lovely lamps suspended from a black pressed-tin ceiling. The dining room seats about 30, and from the look of the crowd, the neighborhood is perfectly delighted to have Tiella in its midst.

The succession of Castellano’s sunny flavors begins with especially soft and flavorful slices of fresh focaccia that arrive in a basket, with a cunning little pitcher of verdant first-pressed Novella olive oil and a little dipping ramekin.

Creamy rich stracchino, a cow’s milk cheese from Italy’s hilly Lombardy region, can be enjoyed either with speck (cold-smoked and dry-aged sliced pork) or black truffle shavings.

Castellano has the smallest wood-burning oven in the city, fitted to his diminutive kitchen. The oven can reach 900 degrees, which explains why so many of his meats and fish have every drop of their juices seared inside.

Roasted sea scallops are tender and moist, and given a wonderful pecorino di Fossa crusting.

A friend told me that her favorite dish at Tiella is risotto with lobster and pink grapefruit, a combination I certainly have never encountered. The dish is indeed triumphant, featuring perfectly cooked Arborio rice. The confluence of pungent fruit and shellfish flavors is ameliorated by a showering of fresh dill.

A generous fillet of orata, a fine-fleshed sea bream found in the Mediterranean, is roasted in a potato crust, then given a light lemon sauce and stabbed with a spear of fresh thyme.

Tiella’s veal scallops are the juiciest I’ve ever had, served under a melting of smoked mozzarella and partnered by an inverted ramekin of unusually tasty spinach.

Lemony cheesecake is quite creamy, thanks to its Roman sheep’s milk base, but also quite light and studded with welcome fresh strawberries. And an airy lemon spongecake is tipsy with limoncello.

Rarely—if ever—has a two-week-old been so ready for its close-up. I highly recommend that you make yourself among the first to discover Tiella’s many pleasures.

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Tiella
1109 First Avenue,
Between East 60th and 61st Streets
212-588-0100
Entrées: $22-28

By Linnea Covington

The first thing we learned at Harlem’s newest haut restaurant 5 & Diamond is that you need a reservation, even if no one is in the small, 40-seat dining room. On a recent rainy Wednesday evening at 6:30, we were shocked to find that no seating was available on the floor, and wouldn’t be all evening, despite the open tables.

We managed to squeeze four people into the tiny bar in the back, which proved a decent choice given the friendly

Flukin’ Fantastic: The fish at 5 & Diamond. Photo by Linnea Covington

bartender and ability to look over the crowd of diners as they sipped their fancy cocktails and gorged on the restaurant’s American-Mediterranean delicacies. After the trek from Brooklyn to Harlem, our mouths were watering as each plate whisked away from the kitchen to their assigned tables. While we longed to sample the fare, a mix of chef David Santos’ creations and those of the original man behind the stove, Ryan Skeen, our thoughts were distracted by the gossip surrounding the ex-chef de cuisine. Skeen’s mysterious departure from the head chef position at 5 & Diamond right when it began to produce a lot of buzz, his past work at Irving Mill and his infamous email termination from Allen & Delancey had our curiosity whetted as we eagerly looked for him to whizz out of the kitchen like one of the plates. We never did see him, and instead ordered glasses of the mildly spicy Danjean Pinot Noir ($9) and some small plates to cure
our hunger.

The first thing to arrive was a basket of bacon-spiked rolls, which worked well with our primer dish, the farms hen egg ($10). Like the rolls, the soupy egg dish came laced with yet more bacon (both in the froth and in chunks), which didn’t actually yield much flavor, and brightly colored bits of fresh carrots and English peas. With hunks of toasted bread to sop up the dish, it compared easily to a simple country breakfast, not too rich or abrasive in taste, and easy going down. Next, we sampled the seared scallops ($13). Cooked to golden perfection, the sweetness of these three mollusks was cut back by the sharp, pickled onions and a mild apricot gazpacho that pooled along the bottom. Good, yes; amazing, not so much.

The fluke ($16) was another story. Prepared sashimi style, the raw fish came in a row of about 15 strips of pale white flesh resting on spurts of spicy chili oil. Whichever chef decided to sprinkle the top of the fish with tiny chunks of pickled rhubarb and a speckling of crisp sea beans had pure genius inspiration as each bite produced a burst of crunchy, soft and chewy textures mixed with a saline heat.

The cocktail list also provided good flavor combos not usually seen. The fresh raspberry margarita ($12) was enhanced by crushed tarragon, and a refreshing drink called Replenish ($12) purred with soothing notes of chamomile in the gin and had a satisfying ginger-lemon kick.

By the time we got to the main course, it had become fairly obvious that pickled things were the favored ingredient, so when we saw “pickled blueberries” with the Iowa Farms pork loin entrée ($25), we had to sample it. The pork, cooked medium, had a piggy pink center, which let the sweetness (and is what makes it one of my favorite meats) shine through. Covering the tender medallions were hearty chunks of crisp ramps and salty puréed white asparagus. The blueberries added a burst of color and a tartness to the dish, though they didn’t taste particularly pickled.

Our final entrée was probably the most normal of the options: the tasting of lamb ($23). It came with lamb tenderloin (rare and rich), leg (fine but not special) and belly, which doesn’t deviate much from pork belly (meaning it’s a delicious, melty square of meaty fat). The meat was cooked perfectly but otherwise it was just a lamb dish strewn with cooked Swiss chard and a minty green sauce.

Skeen, obviously a very good chef, made 5 & Diamond a destination restaurant based on his own heady reputation; the gaggle of bloggers in the corner snapping pictures of the dishes proved this theory. But, for normal folks looking for a bite to eat in their hood, the food is too expensive for casual dining and with Skeen’s departure as chef de cuisine, the restaurant is not exceptional enough for special occasions. It doesn’t fit in the neighborhood, and, once the hype dies down and Skeen isn’t seen, I wonder what will be left.

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5 & Diamond
2072 Frederick Douglass Blvd. (betw. W. 112th & 113th Sts.), 646-684-4662.

By James Greene, Jr.

According to the back of its menu, The Sunburnt Calf got its name from owner Heathe St. Clair’s beloved heifer Bessie, who filled his childhood with laughter and wonder until the day she was accidentally left outside too long in the Australian heat. Cows can’t really recover from sunburns, so Bessie had to be put down. I have to admit, reading the tale of a euthanized cow wasn’t exactly how I wanted to start my Upper West Side dinner, but how can you argue with a restaurant that offers tableside keg service and shark meat?

Alas, the Calf—an uptown offshoot of Alphabet City Australian eatery the Sunburnt Cow—does not offer what I feel is a full Australian dining experience. By that I mean there is no koala on the menu. Also absent are wallaby, Vegemite, deep-fried Paul Hogan and Kangaroo Shepherd’s Pie. The only surface tipoff this cantina has any direct link with the country that gave us Silverchair are the accents of the friendly staff. I’d like to believe these people are truly from Down Under, but they could just be desperate NYU drama students.

OK, there is Shrimp on the Barbie, I’ll give them that. It’s served with a spicy avocado dipping sauce, and it’s good enough to make you hum any given Men At Work hit. Have I thrown enough generic Aussie references at you in this review yet? Just wait until we get to my Bindi Irwin joke.

Aesthetically, The Sunburnt Calf seems to have been airlifted from Park Slope and crammed into the UWS where it could fit—on West 79th Street near Broadway.

Generally, The Sunburnt Calf offers up much of the expected steakhouse fare, but with twists just quirky enough to be endearing. The Burger With The Lot ($10) comes topped with egg, bacon, beets, fried onion, pineapple, lettuce, cheese and tomato; it challenges you to keep everything under the bun on its way to your drooling maw. Spicing up the Pesto Rigatoni ($10) are hunks of fresh shark mixed with bacon. The hearty Aldo’s Steak Diane ($15) isn’t cooked at the table, but it’s a treat nonetheless that’s accompanied by “chips” and “greens” (fries and garlic parmesan broccoli, respectively).

The Sunburnt Calf also offers numerous combination deals, including an Australian Counter Meal ($22) that gets you an appetizer, entrée and a dessert. There’s also an Endless Brunch ($18) on the weekends that includes an entrée (such as the aforementioned burger or eggs prepared “Bush Benedict” style) and all-you-can-drink cocktails. That keg service is pretty handy, too, if you feel like getting drunk with a bunch of your rowdy friends without all the hassle of ordering another round. More non-assuming parties will probably prefer to just slap down 10 bucks for The Calf’s all-you-can-drink-for-two-hours deal, which is apparently in effect at all times.

Speaking of booze, The Calf carried over many of the beloved “Moo Juices” ($7) from The Sunburnt Cow, including The Dirty Mother (Kahlua, tequila and milk) and, my personal favorite, The Illusion (Mango-infused vodka, pineapple, Midori and juice). It should be mentioned that The Sunburnt Calf’s drinks often come in bottles and topped with nipples. You know, as if you’re sucking from a bovine teat.

As far as dessert goes, The Sunburnt Calf boasts a tasty Aussie tart concoction known as Lamingtons. These tiny snack cakes are the perfect way to top off your dining experience in The Calf’s faux-flophouse dining area behind the bar (there’s more seating on a second floor, which was not open during a recent visit).

By the time I was enjoying dessert, I had forgotten entirely about the fatally scorched farm animal honored in the eatery’s name. Instead, my mind was drifting to thoughts of escaping to Angus Young’s homeland, or at least the next possible time I could swing by this perfectly cozy and fulfilling grub spot.

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The Sunburnt Calf
226 W. 79th St.
(betw. Broadway & Amsterdam Ave.)
646-823-9255

By Shani R. Friedman

Many fried chicken devotees believe that you have to travel south of the Mason-Dixon Line or north to Harlem to have your bird cooked as God intended. Chef Charles Gabriel, of Charles’ Country Pan Fried Chicken fame, brings a little of that Southern flair to Midtown’s Aretsky’s Patroon with his latest creation. On Friday nights for a fixed $25, diners feast on three pieces of chicken, two sides and dessert, with live jazz accompaniment.

Get your soul food fix at Patroon Friday nights, with live jazz accompaniment.

I’d postponed eating there until my friend was able to come, so by the time we finally met up, I was practically drooling. She, with a Southern family, considers herself a soul food connoisseur with strong opinions on how it should be cooked. Fortunately for us, judging by the unobtrusiveness of the restaurant’s Gibson Room, the emphasis is clearly on the food. Even the musical interludes from the piano player and bassist receded into the background.

I deliberated over the sides because, really, how can you choose between macaroni and cheese, candied yams, black-eyed peas and collard greens? I went healthy with the peas but then killed the whole notion by ordering the macaroni and cheese. My friend opted for the greens and yams.

The chicken was moist, juicy and meaty, and the pieces were well sized. But onto the true test: the skin. Instead of being heavily breaded, it was thin and crispy with a little spice. Following my tablemate’s lead, I tried the chicken with hot sauce, which was a novel way for me to eat it. I liked it that way, but the bird had more than enough seasoning for my tastes without the extra kick. Though a tough critic, my friend gave the signature dish strong marks. She was less won over by the sides, saying the kitchen should use more butter for the yams and add cinnamon and nutmeg. She also wanted more heat in the greens. The macaroni was light on cheese, which worked for me because we were eating such heavy foods. I stuffed myself on that and the peas so that I could have some leftover chicken and cornbread to savor at home.

Dessert was banana pudding. It was small and light after a big meal, which was definitely a good idea. But for me, a Southern dinner ends with peach cobbler, so hopefully the menu will have at least two items featured for summer.

Now that I have tasted the legendary Charles Gabriel chicken, I must head uptown to Harlem. Life is too short for just a one-night-a-week indulgence.

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Aretsky’s Patroon
160 E. 46th St.
Between Lexington and Third avenues
212-883-7373
Fried chicken dinner: $25

By Tom Steele

In a time not long gone by, other than the venerable Ocean Grill, you would have been hard pressed to find a really terrific and reasonably priced seafood restaurant on the Upper West Side. Somehow, this decidedly idiomatic area just didn’t lend itself to seafood-driven places. In 2007, restaurateur Danny Abrams and co-owner/executive chef Laurence Edelman decided to change that by opening a new edition of their East Village seafood shrine on a populous stretch of Amsterdam Avenue.

Mermaid Inn’s walls are hung with antique sea maps and portraits of various species of ocean fish.

The space is quite similar to that of the downtown Mermaid Inn, though of course the crowd—and I do mean crowd—is totally different. For one thing, there are a lot more regulars, partly because the Upper West Side remains the most good-restaurant-parched neighborhood in Manhattan, but also because Mermaid Inn has many continually intriguing dishes at relatively affordable prices. In gentle weather, there is a large al fresco area out in front, and a pair of large dining rooms inside, separated by the long kitchen. The room in back is preferable if you don’t want to dine in din—though as even that space fills it can get quite loud—but you don’t have to shout to hear one another. Dark wainscoting runs through the rooms, and it’s the only banquette-less restaurant I’ve been to in many weeks. The walls are hung with antique sea maps and portraits of various species of ocean fish. Wine bottles are lined up around the back room on a high shelf.

Service is studied and swift. Our server, Sarah, has a certain Nordic beauty and maintained considerable equanimity in the midst of a swelling and ravenous crowd. Chef Edelman’s executive chef is now Richard Krause, and we hit him on his opening night. There wasn’t a single false step in his cooking—no mean feat when dealing with a full seafood menu in a restaurant that regularly fills with over 90 people.

There are some very original house cocktails available. Ginger lemonade arrives in a huge red wine glass, and features Hangar One citron vodka, fresh lemon, sugar syrup and plenty of ginger. The Shanty blends mezcal, citrus and jalapeño pepper for a nice kick.

Among other less serious effects, the recent calamity in the Gulf of Mexico will drive up the price of oysters, perhaps considerably. So get ’em while you can. Start with a grand platter if you’re a group, or a baby grand if you’re a pair. There are bracingly saline clams, three trios of oysters and a generous heap of lobster knuckles, offered with drawn butter, homemade mayonnaise and that horseradishy “cocktail sauce” that seems designed for people who hate seafood, so completely does it drown out the delicate flavors of shellfish.

Curried oysters have no curry flavor whatsoever, but are topped with a cucumber puree and a delicious dollop of salmon roe, and parked on a bed of seaweed strands.

Chilled avocado-cucumber soup is a cooling puree, rather timidly flavored, but quite refreshing. The peppered, chopped shrimp rescue matters.

Lightly breaded fried calamari are perfectly cooked (a rare occurrence, truth be told) with subtle and tender results. Homemade mayonnaise and warm tomato sauce are on hand.

Sarah told us that perhaps the restaurant’s most popular entrée is the deeply luscious and highly generous lobster roll, which is served on a large buttered brioche bun with a mound of Old Bay-dusted fries. Certain other purveyors of this masterpiece of a sandwich use untenably chewy buns. The brioche lets you revel in the textures of the lightly mayonnaised lobster meat.

Pan-roasted cod arrives on a bed of truffled mashed potatoes, topped with crispy fried spinach, all surrounded by a lobster/tarragon cream sauce. The hunks of cod meat are unusually juicy and yielding.

We may be in something of a minority here, but we especially loved the fact that, instead of having to ponder 12 to 20 dessert choices, we were both presented with a small cup of perfectly delicious bittersweet chocolate pudding topped with a rosette of stiffly whipped cream. Like everything else about Mermaid Inn, this decision was just right.

What a marvelous way to bring in summer! 

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The Mermaid Inn
568 Amsterdam Ave.
(betw. 87th and 88th streets)
212-799-7400
Entrées: $19 to $26

Walking into a wine bar can often feel a little daunting. You see a full list bursting with promise, but only a few names ring a bell. To the uneducated wine drinker, names like “rueda” and “refosco” remain mysterious grapes and blends we often skip in favor of better-known bottles, like pinot noir and sauvignon blanc. But at the two-month-old Tangled Vine, your glass of wine comes with not only the good feeling that most of the bottles are graced with organic or sustainable tipples, but with a healthy dose of education about what you are drinking.

The wine list alone is organized in an unusual way, from the lightest of the brews to the richest. But even with the comical and well-informed descriptions under each offering, the staff is more than happy to pair wine with food, or just to offer a glass you will love. I was lucky enough to spend a recent evening with Tangled Vine’s wine director, Evan Spingarn, as he taught me what went with which dish, and how different wines could really bring out the flavor of the food. With more than 160 types of mainly

The Tangled Vine offers more than 160 types of wines from Italy, Spain, France, Austria and Germany. Photo by Linnea Covingtonbiodynamic, organic and sustainable wines from Italy, Spain, France, Austria and Germany on the menu, I appreciated the wine 101.

We started with the restaurant’s signature plate, the fideos negros. Created by chef David Seigal, of Mercat and Jean Georges, this rich, squid-ink-blackened pile of small, thin noodles with braised cuttlefish and a potent garlic aioli was first paired with a light and bubbly cava brut natura ($10). Manager and wine expert Victoria Levin also brought over two reds, a sturdy dolcetto di dogliani ($12) and a glass of the fruitier ros di rol ($15). All three wines had different results for each of us. I preferred the basic, clean-cut dolcetto di doglaiani, which allowed the garlic and lush flavor of the squid ink to take charge of my palate. One of my dining companions liked the cava, which helped calm the richness of the dish with its bubbles. Our other diner went for the ros di rol, which was the most complex, as the juiciness tangoed with the savory part of the meal in a bold combo.

While we nibbled on crostini topped with perfectly smoky charred eggplant and red pepper with a light saba sauce ($6), the waiters bounced around the tables. They didn’t hesitate to answer guests’ questions about what might go well with the spring vegetable risotto ($16) or the mushroom fricassee ($16). Levin herself busied about the mainly female-packed restaurant, helping customers understand what certain wines were like and how to pair them.

Once we finished another round of crostini—this time a spicy and succulent sobresada and quail egg ($7) version—we opted for a round of sautéed pea shoots ($9) and pork montaditos ($10). The former, despite being heavy with butter, tasted fresh and was well balanced with a tossing of sweet raisins and salty pine nuts. Normally a big fan of pig, I found the pork belly sliders too rich for my blood. Maybe if the slathering of garlic dijonaise had been toned down, the meat in this dish would have shined through instead of getting buried in sauce. The organic veal meatballs ($14) were another story. Made with a great combo of light ricotta mixed with tender ground veal and bathed in a fresh tomato sauce, these treats harmonized perfectly with the glass of refosco ($10).

Three hours later, I was so full and brimming with wine lore that the thought of dessert melted away. Though next time, I look forward to trying the saffron panna cotta ($6) or ricotta cheesecake ($7). If they are anything like the rest of the food we had, I know they will taste divine.

Tangled Vine also offers an extensive cheese and charcuterie list ($17 to $29) and homemade, paprika-sprinkled potato chips, which I recommend munching on with a glass of apple crisp gruner veltliner ($8) as you peruse the menu.