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Frank Bruni at the Times stays close to home (the Upper West Side) this week and on message (recession dining) with a review of two newish restaurants in the 'hood: West Branch (a mostly Mediterranean brasserie) and BarBao (mostly Vietnamese). He likes both, but West Branch is "always packed" while BarBao has empty seats, and this "may say a lot about which types of restaurants this cruel economy is going to be kinder to...At a different moment, in a different climate, both could probably count on success. But in this one, merit and good intentions aren’t enough. Caution, classics and French fries — these may matter more."
Eat your heart out Jello Biafra; Village Voice critic Robert Sietsema took Butthole Surfers frontman Gibby Haynes out to eat at Bay Ridge Egyptian seafood cafe Asmak Taama" "'Shit, this is good,' intoned Gibby in his nasal north-Texas accent, as he contemplated a piece of eggplant planted on a pita." Meanwhile, the Voice's Sarah Digregorio trashes the extravagantly designed but awkwardly named Indian-Latin fusion restaurant At Vermilion (photos): "The restaurant is actually called "At Vermilion" for unfathomable reasons, making for tortured conversation like 'I'll meet you at At Vermilion at eight.'...Not only that, but the restaurant is a 'celebration of the beauty of women.' Is this dinner or Oprah?...Matters begin to disintegrate when you open the menu."
At NY Mag, Adam Platt reviews The John Dory, that psychedelic seafood restaurant (photos) in the Meatpacking District run by Ken Friedman and esteemed Spotted Pig chef April Bloomfield. It's a mixed bag: "Fish are vanishing from oceans at a rapid clip, environmentalists are up in arms over the consumption of everything from swordfish to farm-raised salmon, and diners are overdosing, some of them theatrically, on piles of mercury-laden sushi. But Bloomfield and Friedman are unfazed. They aim to do for the tired fish-house formula what they did for bar food at the Spotted Pig—that is, imbue it with fun, culinary excellence, and a sizable dose of English largesse." But Danyelle Freeman at the Daily News is wowed, giving it four out of five stars and describing it as "a little like Le Bernardin in blue jeans."
The Post's Steve Cuozzo hates to be a pain in the ass, but he's worried about The Four Seasons: "It turns 50 this year, and I want it to see 100. But I'm not sure an erratically executed, three-course Pool Room menu option for $59 is the magic bullet for tough economic times. Snarking over The Four Seasons—even in a constructive spirit—gives me less pleasure than having a colonoscopy."
And Mike Peed at the New Yorker has a fine time at Upper East Side shellfish mecca Flex Mussels: "Late last year, the restaurateur Bobby Shapiro débuted, on the Upper East Side, a version of a sea-weathered mussel shack that charmed his family while they were vacationing on the South Shore of Prince Edward Island. The name, though reminiscent of a Tarzan boast, is apt: Flex Mussels forgoes European and American tradition and puts the mussel on steroids."
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"And Mike Peed at the New Yorker"...
Where does Mike think he is? The Post?
Gothamist's New Year's Resolution should be stop using the slang term "'hood." Especially for the Upper West Side.