‘It’s a party in my mouth,” said the friendly stranger at new RedFarm’s gleaming, ship-length communal table. She meant Pac-Man shrimp dumplings with sesame seed eyes. But “party” says it all about this “proudly inauthentic” Chinese beanery’s long-delayed Upper West Side debut.
Pent-up demand alone can’t account for the crowds that fill the house, and sometimes the sidewalk, night and day. (Walk-ins only, no reservations.) RedFarm is the most thrilling place to touch down north of West 72nd Street since Ruby Foo’s in 1999.
That neo-Asian jumbo ran out of steam prematurely. But if RedFarm owner Ed Schoenfeld and his great chef Joe Ng stay focused, their 82-seater will still be on diners’ must lists in 2035.
Twice as big as the always-mobbed Hudson Street original, the new place is not only better, but a lot better. The spirit’s infectious. Although the cuisines couldn’t be more different, RedFarm enjoys the cheery, “you’ve gotta try this” plate-sharing generosity among strangers of downtown’s legendarily convivial Il Buco Alimentari.
Two parallel rooms mirror Hudson Street’s clean palette of white brick, blond wood beams and red-check seats. Shelves above tiny booths are used to store provisions as in a ship’s galley, but the rooms are airier than the snug downtown confines. The biggest difference is the full-size rear bar, where you may order off the menu.
Hong Kong-born Ng is more than a “dim sum master,” as he’s often called. His accessible-to-all dishes will tick off only those Chinese mavens who prefer to feast on obscure, gelatinous innards in Canal Street basements.
I had a few off-center items and one inedible one: gristly duck and crab in a fragmented shell they called a “dumpling.” The rest were a cavalcade of pleasure unfettered by textbook Chinese or even American-Cantonese rules.
In a very few cases, Ng stretches the white takeout box too far. (Yes, they do takeout, but no delivery.) Diced tuna with crispy noodles and blueberries? The tuna’s fine, if bland, but the blueberries are just bizarre. (Schoenfeld blamed them on Ng: “Joe likes fruit too much.”) Superfluous akura (salmon roe) tasted of nothing.
That’s strange because RedFarm prides itself on raw materials better than what typically make their way into “real” Chinese restaurants. Case in point: the best hot and sour soup I’ve ever had, its tingling, vinegary tension given the luxury treatment with sweet shrimp and three kinds of mushrooms.
Soup dumplings unleash a lush bath of fine-ground pork and crab that hits you all at once. Thanks to Ng’s way with dough, the fragile skin doesn’t come apart before the dumpling hits your mouth. Lamb dumpling “shooters” hardly need chasing with a soy-seaweed broth; the potstickers are silken enough.
Starters and dim sum ($12 to $14) familiar from downtown, like pastrami egg roll, are just as strong, but larger plates, most $16 to $27 and enough for two, are the act to catch. Ng blends Asian and Western cooking methods: Some dishes go from wok to flame and vice-versa. Thick filet of soy- and ginger-marinated salmon was grilled to a sublimely supple texture, then sauteed again with adorable, white honmenji mushrooms.
But main-course meat dishes are the Murderer’s Row. I’m still sorting out which was most mind-blowing — duck breast as rich as liver? Pork chops on fire from jalapeño peppers?
Or was it impossibly rich, satin-textured skirt steak — lunch only — seething with soy, papaya, asparagus and peppers? Okay, I’ll say it: The beef was best.
The energy level starts winding down by 11 p.m. Upper West Siders turn out the lights early, and foodies from other nabes are notoriously resistant to eating there.
But the invasion is on, and the subway stops two blocks away. When word gets out below 14th Street, RedFarm will need a velvet rope to go with Ng’s velvet touch.