Here’s hopeful news for Upper West Siders fed up with their neighborhood’s paltry pick of Chinese (or any) cuisine:
Red Farm, the delayed uptown edition of Ed Schoenfeld’s crazy-popular, proudly “inauthentic” Chinese spot on Hudson Street, is “about eight weeks from opening,” Schoenfeld said. He cited “the vagaries of construction” for the adagio pace. Let’s pray the vagaries of Upper West Side taste don’t do him in.
The new eatery at 2170 Broadway (near 77th Street) was first reported a year ago. Locals, those enamored of chef Joe Ng’s adorable Pac-Man dumplings with sesame seed “eyes,” have breathed heavily ever since. It will replace the uptown satellite of another Asian-inspired place, which coincidentally is also on Hudson Street: Zak Pelaccio’s Fatty Crab, which lasted on Broadway for barely three years.
But why’s it taking so long?
Schoenfeld is building a whole new restaurant, including a new kitchen. Like compact Red Farm in the Village, the UWS one has specialized electrical and plumbing needs. Also, construction by the building’s new owners on its hotel portion impacts the restaurant space.
Although it’s “starting to look like Red Farm,” Schoenfeld said, he’s still working through issues with the “baroque” Department of Buildings.
As the first critic to rave over Red Farm in March 2011, I hope the new one is just as good and popular, and makes millions and millions of dollars for Schoenfeld.
A few years ago, I prematurely proclaimed the district the Upper Best Side — a revolution after generations when local taste was set by activist types weaned on proletarian cheap Chinese and Eastern European starch. (Let’s hope “Red Farm” doesn’t give them the wrong idea.)
My exuberance was mostly based on an influx of fine new places to eat near Lincoln Center, led by Bar Boulud. But today, Upper Worst Side is more like it north of the West 60s and all the way to Harlem.
The past year has seen a cavalcade of comic fiascos and flops. The Purple Fig, helmed by a Michelin-starred chef, crashed instantly. Graffit, a Spanish joint from a well-regarded chef from Madrid, lasted only slightly longer.
Italian trattoria Joanne — which drew buzz because it’s owned by Lady Gaga’s parents and opened with celebrity chef Art Smith — now breathlessly e-mails us, “Every Monday Night is Burger Night at Joanne’s!” Meanwhile, Smith no longer seems to have anything to do with it.
This in a part of town where so many food critics, writers and chefs happen to live. (When I recently tweeted to Schoenfeld to get Red Farm open “for crissake,” the Times’ Julia Moskin tweeted back, “I second.”)
Reasons given for the culinary black hole include supposedly penny-pinching locals (there’s enough dough in the area to feed a Vegas casino) and lack of lunch business (as if a zillion places downtown don’t have the same problem).
More likely, lingering lefties who once debated Sino-Soviet relations over Mexican beans on Columbus Avenue wiggle their communistic noses every time an ambitious new place bucks the tide.
Brilliant talents seem to take leave of their senses when they launch on the UWS. Ed Brown’s ‘81’ had great American dishes. But red upholstery climbing the walls turned off customers not already put off by a menu divided into categories too pricey and too cheap.
Fatty Crab’s fiery, Malaysian-inspired spirit echoed the popular downtown original. But it was served in cramped, pitch-dark confines suited to Bushwick. The colorful dishes, and often the waiters, vanished into the void; the soundtrack inflicted middle-ear damage.
Schoenfeld surely won’t make the same mistakes. But, Ed, if customers ask if “Red Farm” has a collective agriculture theme, send them to a takeout place up the street.