The miso-glazed Chilean sea bass is expertly marinated atop a crispy ricecake.
Japanese spices spark in the black sea bass carpaccio with lavosh breadsticks.
Tempura-battered almond shrimp have bite with spicy vinaigrette that complements both. (Anne Wermiel/NY Post)
‘this place is great for a birthday — last time I thought it was for a biopsy,” my friend giggled at plush, red-velvety Cherry in the Dream Downtown Hotel. Well, you’d never guess the clubby space was last Romera, the “neurogastronomic”-Spanish flop that resembled a cancer ward.
But how did it get so much bigger? “The Romera kitchen took up half the floor,” Cherry owner Jonathan Morr told us on one of several rounds he made past our table. He seemed frantic to make friends, maybe because his Japanese-American-fusion mini-jumbo is the city’s most obscure “hot” restaurant.
Since opening in January, Cherry has drawn less media attention than Greenpoint coffee bars. Call it Romera’s curse. Yet, it was near-full on all my visits, including on the eve of the Memorial Day weekend.
Morr also owns cheaper Republic and pricier BondSt — the thriving Japanese place he launched in 1998, where icy airs once greeted guests who didn’t happen to be supermodels or Hollywood hangers-on.
But BondSt warmed up over time, and Cherry reflects the Tumblr-ized, we’re-all-pals 2010s. The trek down a long, dark flight of steps promises no good but the destination looks like anything but a basement — high-ceilinged and sexy with pleated red booths and banquettes, lampshade sconces and dark, polished wood. Original? No. In this location? Miraculous.
The crowd acts slightly more grown-up than at the rest of the insufferably buzzy Dream Downtown — at least until a DJ kicks in Thursday nights at around 11, a pain threshold to avoid at all costs.
Executive chef Andy Choi’s menu (small items and starters, $12 to $22; mains, $25 to $35) works the party-time, Nobu-esque fusion street better than some. Romera’s vile, flavored waters yielded to 80 (count ’em, 80) different sakes, perhaps to scream “Japanese” more persuasively than the menu.
The Land of the Rising Sun’s represented mainly by sushi, sashimi and rolls, the latter freshly assembled and cleverly composed. In an age of argument-starting “interpretation,” most of the nonthreatening, non-sushi lineup reads almost nostalgic. Colorful, often sweet amalgams of Japanese and modern-American elements feed your fun-craving face without insulting your intelligence.
Alas, there’s only one thing wrong with “BondSt tuna tart” incorporating creamy ponzu and white truffle oil: The oil, a truffle-devoid ooze that makes most any dish it touches as palatable as a sweaty armpit. The dish it so thoroughly ruins curiously pops up at many a table-full of eaters on the make. As the sake and cocktails flow, lips are locked, necks nuzzled and footsie publicly indulged in the joint’s every nook and cranny.
Crunchy almond shrimp live up to the lustful spirit: toothsome, greaseless tempura-battered specimens drizzled in spicy vinaigrette hospitable to both shrimp and nuts.
Tamagoyaki, a cold “omelet” served in rounds, weds smoked trout to salmon roe, radish and yuzu beurre noisette — a surprisingly salt-restrained luxury. Sparks from shiso, szu and chili lime tosazu were restrained to let paper-thin, black sea bass carpaccio taste like fish. Crisscrossed lavosh breadsticks lend crackle.
Choi has a way with textural contrast. Clichéd-sounding miso-glazed Chilean sea bass arrived deftly marinated and moist throughout, mounted on a crispy ricecake worthy of the name.
Yet my friend howled, “Loser!” over pitiably meager, dry buckwheat risotto with baby vegetables. “Blackened” skate meant only that it was seared on top; promised spices failed to show up. Accompanying lotus chips were saltier than Pringles.
The stinkers were offset by beer-braised lamb shank glazed in its own, marjoram-tinted jus. The style drew forth the deep flavor that repels only those who want their lamb to taste like frozen beef.
Desserts like teasing-flaky ginger mille crepe are as much fun as you can afford before making your wobbly way back up the stairs. It took a steep climb to vanquish Romera’s ghost, but there’s nothing scary about Cherry. Just bring an appetite and thirst. No prescription necessary.