‘The scariest room where I ever stayed was in East London,” the well-traveled British guy at the next table at Kingside informed his mates. But the scariest prices he’s likely found are on West 57th Street, where new hotels assume everyone can drop $35 on a sliver of fish.
Or more. There is, for example, $57 cioppino at Wayfarer in the new Quin Hotel, across the street from Kingside in the equally new Viceroy Hotel. Kingside isn’t that crazy. But $20 for a measly, lonely octopus tentacle with beans — the beans, moreover, lacking promised mussels?
Kingside’s spirited, modern-American menu mostly works well, thanks to chef Marc Murphy, who also pilots popular Landmarc at Time Warner Center and in Tribeca. And it’s a 140-seat gift to 57th Street west of Fifth Avenue, a fast-regenerating stretch that was long dead after dark but is now home to a half-dozen new hotels and restaurants.
I hate to drag in a place that isn’t what the review is about. (Really, I do.) But while Wayfarer merely resembles an airport lounge, Kingside takes flight. Walls and floors in black-and-white glazed brick gleam throughout the expensively crafted, vaulted contemporary brasserie.
The light-industrial design barrels like a locomotive from an alluring front bar visible from the sidewalk, past a blur of booths and banquettes, to the rear open kitchen with red leather counter stools.
Kingside is full most nights, and not only with tourists. It’s pleasant wherever you sit, and the menu won’t discomfit you, either. Murphy knows how to please modern palates without pandering. Precise balance and plating brought French-like elan to goat cheese, olives and toasted almonds drizzled in lemon.
Hay-aged pecorino toast adorned with creamy ricotta and drizzled in truffle honey was a lascivious bargain for $16. But “everything cured” salmon ($19) suggested an “everything” bagel shrunk to the size of a steak fry, besieged by undressed lettuce posing as dill slaw.
Entrees, mostly in the $30s, generate sticker shock that one time reached $238.42 for two with one drink, two glasses of wine and tip — as much as I’ve spent for a comparable-size meal at three-star Betony on the next block.
All that stands between Kingside and two stars is more discipline. “Large plates” are inconsistently executed. How did the same kitchen behind juicy, rich-flavored monkfish also send out desert-dry poached fluke that recalled my fish-hating mom’s fried flounder circa 1960? While beer-braised beef short ribs ($34) fell luxuriantly from the bone, braised pork shank ($32), a house pride, arrived rigid and near-arid.
Straightforward desserts make for a happy ending. Killer cocktails like Midnight Tryst (gin, vanilla, blackberries and lemon) are as potent as they are sweet.
They might even keep you smiling when the bill comes.