SUDDENLY, illogi cally, three recently opened restaurants that looked like flops on paper have turned out to be terrific – a miracle after a long drought during which many of New York’s best chefs sat it out, squandering their time on greedy stabs at global “branding.”
All three bowed with various strikes against them. But they’re serving creatively conceived, fearlessly seasoned dishes made from fine raw materials to happy customers with more on their minds than Kobe beef.
None of the trio has tablecloths. All embrace the casual, young-skewing vibe. But they’re real restaurants, not lounges, tapas bars, burger pits or noodle factories. They’re original, not clones or “relaunches” of old places on their last legs.
Best of all, their chefs are actually in the house – go now before they change their minds.
* AMALIA, 204 W. 55th St.; (212) 245-1234
Cuisine: Mediterranean-American.
Chef: Ivy Stark
Why it sounded awful: Named for Sigmund Freud’s mother. Owner Greg Brier is mainly known for clubs. Vegas-Gothic-Rococo décor linked to Vikram Chatwal’s weird Dream Hotel. Ominous, “art-driven” shtick. Original wine list read as if written by Borat.
The good news: Ivy Stark, one of the city’s few female executive chefs, has cooked for places from mediocre to grand. Amalia is one of her best. Let’s pray she stays, because her kitchen is the real show, not black Murano glass chandeliers, blue chinoiserie, goofy ceiling frescoes and an opium den-like basement grotto.
Chatwal and his turbaned pals passing through add to the over-the-top atmosphere. Stark’s colorful, North African-inflected dishes might be classier than the crowd. The nightlife-impresario type at the next table begs two babes to join him afterward at Scores – is his heart really in chicken stuffed with chorizo rollatini-style? Wild king salmon charmoula with cucumber-lime yogurt is a clinic in accessible exoticism. Sautéed and crispy calamari are equally tender.
Amalia is far from perfection, but even farther from the fiasco it promised to be. The pleasure extends to pastry chef John Miele’s treats such as warm bananas wrapped in crisp kataifi. And they’ve cleaned up the wine list.
* FR.OG, 71 Spring St.; (212) 966-5050
Cuisine: “Areas of the world influenced by French fare, including French, Vietnamese, Moroccan and Lebanese”
Chef: Didier Virot
Why it sounded awful: Worst name since Caviar & Banana (worse, actually). Menu sounds like it’s trying too hard. Looks more like a club than a food place. And what’s an uptown guy like Virot (oft-retooled Aix) doing on the next block from Balthazar?
The good news: Classically trained Virot finds his populist groove in this unlikely SoHo setting of turquoise banquettes, fuchsia wall panels, round party booths and white lace draperies. The lower level is reached via a circular staircase with a glittering wall of 1,000 mosaic glass mirrors.
They’re more polished than the service: “Lesbian mud role” turns out to be a drink called Lebanese Muddler. But the all-over-the-map menu sparkles on the plate and on the tongue. All dishes are devoured to the last crumb on all visits.
The flavor spectrum conjures a distant wharf: harissa, cardamom, mango, coconut, star anise, confidently deployed. Strips of seared, sumac-marinated lamb loin lie transverse atop a mound of tabouli. Tajine monkfish comes with a vivid mix of green and white asparagus, zucchini, green olives, basil lime and saffron.
At least for now, most appetizers are priced below $15 and all entrées but one under $30. If it’s too busy (and noisy) for you at night, they just opened for lunch.
* INSIEME, 777 Seventh Ave.; (212) 582-1310
Chef: Marco Canora
Cuisine: Italian
Why it sounded awful: Bland room in the Michelangelo Hotel with window views of stampeding tourists, Applebee’s and a discount electronics store. A downtown chef (Canora) moving uptown is always dangerous.
The good news: The best new Italian restaurant since L’Impero. At Hearth on 10th Street, Canora’s American menu leans to Italian, and at Insieme (“together”), he embraces the Boot with a vengeance.
How’d he get here? “I knew the owner of the hotel,” he says.
“Mamma Mia” patrons looking for red sauce are in for a shock. The menu is baffling at first, with dishes organized in columns of “traditional” and “contemporary” but without headings to explain that. The waiters grow testy when you ask why they aren’t labeled – “It would take away our speeches” – but giggle when you ask what “culingionis” (potato ravioli) is – “I know where you’re going with that.”
A taste of almost anything blows away doubts. Fish courses like “gently cooked” king salmon are as delicate as the meats are brawny – four-way lamb (chop, saddle, breast and sausage) and guinea hen (brined/poached breast, thigh confit, fried wing and francese-style liver). Heavenly nocciola gelato’s a one-way ticket to Milan. Just watch your wallet: a smallish plate of spinach lasagna with veal/beef ragu and béchamel sauce will set you back $26.