A Tale of Two Cookshops

COOKSHOP
156 Tenth Ave.
at 20th St.
212-924-4440

FOUR SPORKS

One lazy day late last summer, Spoon's parents generously offered to drive in to the city to take us out for a nice Sunday dinner. After a few unsuccessful phone calls seeking last-second reservations, we succeeded at Cookshop, a relative newcomer in Chelsea we'd heard good things about. It was a good choice. We had a sensational meal that evening: casual, delicious, and drawn from an imaginative menu with excellent service from a fun, chatty waiter who was only too happy to engage us about the menu, the neighborhood, the chef and a few other fun topics. It was one of the best meals of the summer.

So when our friends Cara and Bryan had to cancel plans for dinner at Cookshop last Saturday (hope you're feeling better, Cara!), we called an audible: rather than scrap a night out, we changed what would have been a fun dinner for four into an intimate dinner for two. Once again, Cookshop impressed us. But if consistency is the hallmark of a great restaurant, Cookshop is not quite there. In contrast to our Summer Sunday, this Winter Saturday meal was rushed, crowded and loud; and the food and service uneven at best.

There were some highlights. For an appetizer, we had razor clams served over fennel and my favorite green cerignola olives, the best dish we had all night. We also once again enjoyed a few dishes from Cookshop's "snacks" menu: fried hominy (pictured), and some sensational anchovy deviled eggs.
For our main courses, Spoon went with grilled whole Atlantic porgy, and I had the Berkshire pork chop, which I also ordered at my previous Cookshop experience and had declared the best pork chop on Earth. For dessert, pineapple upside down cake with butter pecan ice cream and an espresso.

My first Berkshire pork chop at Cookshop was served minimally, on a white plate propped up on a whole link of their own spicy, delicious pork sausage. On Saturday, however, it came on a plate covered in black beans, the chop completely smothered in a pineapple salsa. The sausage link was cut in two, depriving me of that mouthwatering pop one hears when first piercing a sausage casing. Cutting the sausage in two also served to let the juices escape, drying out the sausage noticeably from the juicy, undisturbed link I enjoyed this summer. My biggest question: why! Why take the best pork chop I've ever had, and completely obscure it, top and bottom, both its flavor and its visual appeal, with a rote, overused combination of pineapple and black beans?

Spoon's plate, meanwhile, was striking in contrast to mine. She asked that her whole fish be fileted for her, a common request, and it arrived as two filets all alone on a white plate, the spinach accompanying her fish served in a cup on the side. The fish was not terribly exciting. Minimally spiced and served, it tasted, well, fresh. Unfortunately, it was filled with little bones, virtually invisible in the restaurant's dim light. Yes, a few bones are part of the deal when ordering fish. But it is terribly frustrating to have to spit mouthful after mouthful of your $26 fish into your napkin.

Most disappointing, however, was the service. Our waiter had the faraway look of an aspiring actor just passed over for yet another soap opera. He could not have been more aloof or disinterested. When we needed a minute to decide whether or not we would drink a bottle of wine (the vintages were mostly unknown to us and there were only two under $40), he just walked away and gave us a good 15 minutes before returning to take a drink order. What, no sommelier? What's the fish like, Spoon asked? "Excellent," the Stepford waiter replied. Insightful. We like excellent fish. The worst, thing, perhaps: not one smile, or engaging word or even eye contact.

Don't feel too bad for us, however. The meal was certainly not a chore to get through. The company was of course delightful. And I still have the memory of an amazing Cookshop meal to counter this less than satisfactory Saturday dinner-rush experience. It's also hard not to root for Cookshop's owners, too, Vicki Freeman and her husband (and chef) Marc Meyer, also owners of Five Points. Their commitment to using local farmers and organic ingredients pays off when combined with Meyer's considerable culinary imagination.--F

Tapas, Italian Style

BAR STUZZICHINI
928 Broadway, at 22nd Street
(212) 780-5100

THREE SPORKS

Sometimes, it's hard to tell the one you love how you really feel. No, not Spoon, and no, not the delightful Bittman sisters, with whom we enjoyed a fun meal Friday evening. For months now, however, we've been meaning to do a proper review of Bar Stuzzichini, one of Spoon & Fork's favorite new spots and a welcome addition to the Flatiron's already brimming culinary wellspring. After dozens of meals over the past year, sampling virtually everything on the menu, and a good chunk of the wine list, well, it's time to get some things off our chest.

When it opened in June 2007, Bar Stuzzichini offered a refreshing proposition, different from the "family style" meals associated with so many Italian restaurants. Its specialty is rustic "stuzzichini," small plates, not unlike tapas, with each plate offering a few bites, ranging from $5 and $10 per, or, the house deal of any combination of five plates for $22 (for two people), or $40 (for four to six people). A nice selection of entrees are served sparely as well, without sides or garnish, alone on white plates.

It's a lovely way to eat, Spoon and I agree. Over the course of a meal, one can enjoy many flavors and textures. It's visually appealing, too, if tough on the dishwashers. You can really appreciate the richness of Italian cuisine when it lays in front of you, simply presented, on small plates, unspoiled by a careless side dish. The wine list, meanwhile, is outstanding, mostly Italian vintages, particularly southern Italian, available by the bottle, glass and "quartino," a beaker-like vessel that holds about two glasses. For me, however, it's hard not to go with an ice-cold Peroni, served in a tall glass. They also prepare a perfect cocktail at the bar, for those unpersuaded by the wine list. The room is nice, lots of wood, with an elegant banquette, illuminated by hanging wagon-wheel lamps, although Frank Bruni's one-star review called the restaurant's opaque light "unflattering."

By now, Spoon and I have our favorites: a typical meal for us includes a fantastic grilled octopus; scamorza, a fried, spiced piece of aged cheese that's a mouthwatering must; grilled prawns, served with the head on; clams presented in a garlicky broth, ideal for sopping up with fresh-baked bread; and a plate of crisp green olives. For entrees, the restaurant serves the best braciole (pictured) outside of your Nonna's kitchen. Spoon has been addicted to the orechiette with cauliflower and bread crumbs since the beginning, though lately the crispy lemon chicken has taken a toe-hold. Other offerings include an excellent bone-in rib-eye steak served with a little spice, a decent rabbit, and striped bass cooked in parchment paper.

Friday's meal, aside from the exceptional company, was fairly typical. Yet Spoon and I both left the restaurant with a feeling that perhaps all is not quite right in Bar Stuzzichini's world. To start, the service was lackluster, and over the past year has been very hit-or-miss. One meal, a server may be very well-engaged, others, barely present. On Friday, it was the latter. I never received a second Peroni (though it showed up on the bill), despite repeated efforts to flag down our waiter in the hardly busy room. We ordered stuzzichini for four, and four of the dishes were appropriately doubled in size, except for the olives: there was only one small dish instead of two. Only one basket of bread, too, and the end piece I had was stale and chewy. Erratic service can be overcome or at least tolerated in some restaurants, but not at Bar Stuzzichini, where ordering and enjoying the menu requires a certain level of engagement from the server.

Of general concern, after more than a year the restaurant has not changed its menu, and there are no specials. For regulars like us, it is beginning to seem like the formula is set and that's it. In fairness, we usually have our meal plotted out before we walk in. But it's beginning to feel like Bar Stuzzichini isn't trying. Why not offer some seasonal specials? Serving small plates of stuzzichini surely offers an excellent opportunity to branch out, especially considering the restaurant is just six short blocks from the Union Square Green Market.

Judging from the dwindling number of diners, we're not alone in our assessment. When we left at 9:30 on Friday night, the restaurant was less than half-full. It could be that we were between seatings, or that numbers tend to fizzle in summer, when patrons leave town. Nevertheless, Bar Stuzzichini, which was packed front-to-back for months following its opening, is less and less so. On a recent Sunday night, we were virtually alone dining in the bar room. That scares us a little, and we have to wonder if the novelty of "Italian tapas" has worn off for newcomers, if the regulars are getting bored, and if those on the fence have been knocked off by the inconsistent service.

If Bar Stuzzichini needs a cautionary tale, it needs only to look around the corner (ahem, Rocco, Banana and Caviar, and now Borough). While Bar Stuzzichini is a far cry from Jeffery Chodorow's brand of hubris, it has made some questionable choices of late, most recently the addition of sidewalk seating. Situated along a treeless stretch of battered pavement that features a bus route, a view of the road construction just a block away, and a subway grate, it offers all the allure of picnicing in a parking lot. We recommend the bar room, as it is generally more festive than the back room, less grimy than the sidewalk, and the service tends to be better.

Despite the restaurant's inconsistency, we still recommend Bar Stuzzichini. Even when it slips, it manages to deliver at a fairly high level. Last night, however, I asked Spoon if we would be such regular patrons if the restaurant was, say, across town, rather than a few steps from our door. The honest answer: probably not. That's too bad. Bar Stuzzichini burst on the Flatiron scene a little over a year ago, and it earned both our business and its considerable buzz. Lately, though, it seems to be coasting, and in a neighborhood brimming with esteemed restaurant competition, including a lot of consistently solid Italian, from newcomer Lunetta, to staples like Beppe, Novita, Georgio's, and Pizza Fresca, there is never time to coast.--F