Landmarc Time Warner Center (New York, NY)

10 Columbus Circle
3rd Floor
New York, NY 10019

212.823.6123

Landmarc TWC is really one of the nicest restaurants-next-door you could possibly meet. Truth be told, it’s not the most delicious of restaurants nor the most posh—though it is tasty and attractive enough. But the overall experience is so warm and welcoming (and the prices are so fair) that you will very likely be drawn back here far more frequently than you would, say, to a Per Se or a Masa. It’s a place where you’ll want to stop by for a half bottle of wine (there is a respectable selection) on your way home from work once a week or so—even if you don’t actually live right next door.

(If you’re thinking that by “you,” I really mean “me,” you’re probably right.)

My SO and I went to the Landmarc in the Time Warner Center on Saturday night at 9:30, on the new Landmarc location’s first weekend in the world. The restaurant has a policy of not taking reservations for parties of five or less, and the wait didn’t look promising at all. The entire northwest corner of the Time Warner Center’s third floor was mobbed with people who were apparently waiting to get into Landmarc. The hostess told us the next table wouldn’t be ready for another hour.

My SO and I looked at each other in dismay. We are not a hardy lot when it comes to camping out for a table, having expended all such energies on camping out for Harry Potter novels and concert tickets in our foolhardy youth (ok like last year). But this time we decided to stick around, in part because we knew we’d be able to get happily likkered up on the excellent cocktails at Café Gray, on the same floor of the Time Warner Center. And it was a good thing we did, too, for not fifteen minutes later, when we were but a few sips into our cocktails, the hostess called to tell us our table was ready. We quaffed the rest of our cocktails and scurried back.

Inside, the décor is really lovely. The space is large and cavernous in the best of ways. The high ceilings, an interpretation of 90s-chic Tribeca exposed beams in evenly-cut svelt planks, were brought closer by the dark colors. But though it seats 300 according to Eaters, it didn’t feel like industrial sized dining. From our vantage point in a booth opposite the busy bar, the scale felt positively homey. (That said, I would hate to be the lone diner in such a large space. Long sightlines would make it impossible to lay low when one is not camouflaged amidst the other diners.)

We had a few moments alone with our menus before our red-cheeked waiter appeared, but once there, he was cheerful, slightly harried, and a perfect balance of friendly and efficient. He didn’t bat an eye when we ordered NY City tap. (Plus five.)

The menu is, I think, identical to Landmarc’s flagship location in Tribeca. To start, we had the foie gras terrine with pickled red onions and the smoked mozzarella and ricotta fritters with fried zucchini sticks and a “spicy red sauce” that looked and tasted like just plain ol’ marinara sauce. The foie gras was okay, probably from a tin, and served at too cold of a temperature for one to appreciate to full effect the fatty deliciousness that makes this dish. The onions were lovely, though, something I could imagine someone’s French grandmother making. Toast that accompanied the terrine was slightly burnt and in that unpleasant post-warm toast phase. I mostly ate around it. The fritters were a stepped up version of fried mozzarella sticks and beautifully battered—not greasy at all. I thought they were much better without the strangely supermarkety red sauce.

For our main courses, we had the grilled pork chop with sautéed spinach, caramelized onions and roasted apples (me), and the spaghetti bolognaise (him). The grilled pork chops didn’t really taste or look grilled in the cooking-over-open-flames sense of the word and it came medium done, rather than medium rare, as I’d requested. Even so, it was juicy, perfectly brined, and went very well with the Green Market quality fresh spinach and homey chunks of apples. The SO liked his bolognaise, though I was significantly less thrilled with it. The spaghetti was reconstituted from the dried, boxed stuff. The sauce itself was flavorful enough, nothing to write home about. (To be fair, pasta bolognaise isn’t really my favorite dish to begin with.)

True to its reputation, the new Landmarc continues the tradition of well-priced wines. We had a half bottle of a palatable, though not stellar, gruner veltliner for a very good price (around $15). We would have had more had we not had to quaff our pre-dinner cocktails.

For dessert, we tried the “one of each,” a sampler that comes with a small wedge of lemon tart, two rather (over)generously-sized ramekins of chocolate mousse and berry cobbler, each, a chocolate éclair, and a crème brulee. I though the crème brulee was the most delicious, in part because it best survived having sat around for a while. Ingredients in all desserts were clearly high quality (real vanilla bean in the creme brulee and full bodied, full-fat fresh-tasting cream), but some desserts suffered more than others from the time spent between oven and table. The cobbler topping was, in places, a bit too soggy, and came at room temperature. (I prefer it piping hot.) Similarly, though the ingredients in the lemon tart were fantastic, the crust nicely buttery and the lemon fragrant, the crust was slightly mushy from having been made, probably, more than one day before. And the éclair was also a little wet, more fitting for profiterols than for straight-up consumption. Mousse was nice and thick the way I like it.

Without tip, the total came to just over a hundred for two. It was, in my book, a pretty sweet deal, especially with the generous handful of homemade caramels that came with the check. Food is a little bit more like an accompaniment to the wine than the other way around. But it’s a perfectly fine place to come to unwind after-work, as friendly as your neighborhood pub, with far better food and nicer décor. Next time I'm going to save a lot more room for wine!

Varietal (New York, NY) -- CLOSED

138 W 25th St
New York, NY 10011
(212) 633-1800

No more mushroom caramel on the menu at Varietal, kids. The menu has been significantly revamped for spring—and it looks like the reviews it’s gotten in the past few months have nudged the restaurant in a slightly different direction. If you loved it the way it was before, you’ll think Varietal has been “dumbed down.” Certainly, the approach now seems more muted and conventional than its reputation had suggested.

We went at a little past eight on a Saturday night and were the only other party in the restaurant. By the time we left at around 10 p.m., the dining room was only half-filled. The front, lounge area had only one group in it, its space-aged ice cream scoop chairs standing sadly empty and turned every which way as though they didn’t know which direction to face. This made me a little sad because there are redeeming things about this restaurant, including the exceptional service (helpful, friendly, and very likeable, but never intrusive), a few good wines by the glass that one would not be able to find elsewhere, and a few high points on the menu. I’m of the school that thinks it just needs a little more work and more communicable vision.

Appetizers and entrees were not as challenging as I’d hoped or expected. The appetizers were better than the entrees. The sea scallops ($14), a holdover from the old menu, were exceptional: meaty and tender, lightly crusted with hazelnuts, and served with a slightly sweet puree of roasted apple and teeny slices of baby turnips. The baby octopus ($13) were also very tasty, poached in olive oil according to the menu (though they were brown and glazed in something sweet a way that looked more barbecued) and served with sunchokes and something that was described as salsa verde, but tasted more to me like pureed bitter greens.

The less remarkable appetizers included the quail wrapped in prosciutto ($16), with black truffle grits, which come in the shape and size of small shumai dumplings. To my palate, they tasted take turkey meatballs wrapped in bacon. The only distinctive flavor was the prosciutto, but since it’d been taken through too many paces (a steamer? boiler?) with the quail, the prosciutto was soft and rubbery and texturally unpleasant. The quail stuffing was overcooked and tough, strongly reminiscent of deep frozen, microwaved shumai. I would love to see this dish come back roasted or broiled, with crisp prosciutto wrapping tender, lightly browned quail, with a stronger hint of truffles.

Wild arugula salad was unobjectionable, topped with good quality shaved parmesan and balsamic.

My dining companions and I ordered four entrees in all: the Tasmanian trout slow cooked with lentils and mustard seed; pork loin with fava beans, hedgehog mushrooms, and smoked belly; chicken pan roasted with fingerling potatoes, baby spinach and Meyer lemon; grilled strip steak with white beans, onion, and marrow butter.

The steak ($36) was my favorite though the dining companion who had ordered it was miffed that it hadn’t come out bleu (seared on the outside, bloody on the inside) as he’d requested, but medium well done. I was an unintended beneficiary since he gave me a generous chunk. It was still deeply tender, well-brined with just the right mixture of fat and lean, and a nice undercurrent of rosemary. I loved it.

My own entrée, the pork loin ($28), was unremarkable. It was also a little overcooked though perhaps this was my own fault since I wasn’t asked and didn’t ask for a level of doneness. It was also undersauced, the pork medallions not flavorful enough on their own to make the dish, even with the dry-sautéed mushrooms and flavorful fat pork belly. I could understand if this was an intentional move, designed to highlight the unadulterated flavors of each ingredient, but frankly, the pork just come out tasting plain and too dry. Perhaps they just forgot to sauce it on the way out of the kitchen. Fava beans were very fresh, but not enough vegetable to balance out the dish.

I had only a miniscule taste of the chicken ($24) since my SO was guarding it jealously. What I had of it tasted like everyday, weeknight chicken.

The Tasmanian trout ($27) was more pinkly and meatily salmon-like than your conventional trout, the mustard seed dressing popping entertainingly with every bite. Slow cooking is an interesting preparation for fish, and not in this case altogether successful. Though the results were still tender, I think some flavor is lost in the process.

We did, of course, save lots of room for dessert. Amongst us, we tackled the salted almond ice cream with brown butter financier, cherries and Pedro Ximenez; the chocolate marquis with red wine sorbet, crème fraiche and four spice; and the polenta cake with milk chocolate, cashew-bourbon praline, and buttermilk.

The chocolate marquis ($12) was brilliant, well matched with the lovely, tart, red-pink sorbet and four spice crème fraiche. It was aesthetically presented, a thick chocolate bar topped with an egg of sorbet on one end, plate drizzled with hot pink something.

My polenta cake ($12) was earthy and homey, evoking by design its humble farmhouse origins. The sweet corn cake remained both moist and pleasantly gritty, well matched to the rich cashews and generous dallop of yogurt-like buttermilk. The smooth milk chocolate was almost an afterthought, intended perhaps to add easy accessibility. It would have been nice on its own, but was sweeter and richer than the rest of the plate, here. Ultmately, it seemed a little overwhelming, and unnecessary.

The dining companion who ordered his steak bleu was comped a salted almond ice cream ($9) for his earlier trouble, but unfortunately he did not like this, either. It was, as described, salted ice cream that was a little jarring on its own, but worked well with the buttery financier, denser than the more commonly found light tea cakes. I helpfully ate a good part of the ice cream for him. It reminded me pleasantly of the roasted nuts one can buy at stands all over Manhattan in the autumn and winter months: sweet, salty, and fragrant. I liked it even if no one else at the table did.

I reluctantly passed up a number of interesting wines on the list in favor of a better value wine, a 2005 northern California pinot noir (a little over $50). It was fruity and fragrant, but had a slight tinge of unpleasant bitterness to it. This was, I thought, a good leitmotif for the dinner as a whole: often delicious and highly enjoyable, but with an undeniable off element, as well. I had to come at least once just to figure out what everyone else was talking about, and I think I’ll give it some time to iron out the kinds before I make a special trip back, again. But I do hope it stays around long enough for that.

Spiga (New York, NY)

200 W 84th St
(between Amsterdam Ave & Broadway)
New York, NY 10024
(212) 362-5506

www.spiganyc.com

Spiga is one of those mildly popular, but underrated restaurants hidden on a quiet, otherwise residential side street on the Upper West Side (200 W 84th St). Since I’ve never had trouble making last-minute reservations at any time I like and am nowhere close to being a VIP, it seems to me that Spiga is nowhere near as popular as it ought to be given the quality of the kitchen. Though the service can be somewhat flighty, the kitchen, without question, has its shiznit together, despite sometimes heavy-handed salt shaking.

Every course we had was deeply flavorful and made with high quality ingredients. We started with appetizers of creamy cow’s milk cheese with tomato tartar and spicy gelatin (burrata con tartara di pomodori e gelantina de peporoncino) and a half-portion of the pumpkin ravioli with parmesan cheese and basalmic vinegar sauce (ravioli di zucca con parmigiano reggiano e aceto balsamico) listed as a primi. The cheese was a lovely, tender, and mild-yet-flavorful cousin of the more commonplace mozzarella, so simply beautiful that it makes one wonder why the practice of serving it isn’t more widely replicated. There was no readily comprehensible evidence of spicy gelatin—which I found disappointing, having imagined a quivering, black pepper Jello cup—though the mound of orange stuff, which didn’t look or feel or taste at all gelatinous, had some heat, I think from red pepper. I’m not entirely sure the flavors worked with the cheese: There was too little acid and too much salt. The small spoonful of creamy, deep orange served with the dish, evidently the tomato tartar, was too sweet and a little reminiscent of ketchup. But both were easily avoidable. I focused my efforts on the already-perfect cheese, lightly drizzled with fruity, high quality olive oil.

Though the pasta part of the pasta pumpkin ravioli was a little too tough, either from overcooking or reheating, the innards were fragrant and well-flavored, with a nice hint of nutmeg. The dish had just the right amount of creamy, white sauce and, in contrast to the commonly committed sin of so many American Italian restaurants, was not drowned and overwhelmed by it. I was happy to note that the balsamic vinegar reduction, drizzled attractively overtop and adding color to an otherwise white dish, was an authentic sweet and full-bodied balsamic vinegar, not one of its ubiquitous poorer cousins frequently passed off in the US as being balsamic vinegar.

For main courses, we had the pan roasted breast of duck served over a turnip puree, with apples, dried fruit and chocolate sauce (petto d’anatra con mele, pure di rape, rutta secca e salsa di cioccolato) and the pan roasted pork loin with spicy honey sauce served with braised cabbage, fried cream, and crispy pancetta (filetto di maiale con salsa di miele e peperoncino, verze stufate, crème fritta e pancetta crocante). Both were delightful.

There was a small snafu when the servers brought out the wrong dish for me, but the correct dish for my SO. So as we waited for my order to come through, my SO and I shared his duck. I have to confess to being a sucker for the rousing combination of rich, flavored meat and lightly bitter turnip puree, and hit on the theme often in my own cooking. The chocolate-infused sauce bedding the entire dish brought this classic combination to a new level, however, by highlighting, all at the same time, the dark, deep flavors in the duck and sweetness of the apples and pleasant earthiness of the turnip. The sauce, though understated, brought the entire plate together and united its disparate elements into a coherent message. Apples in the dish came in the form of two, petite, roasted halves, their translucent butter-yellow attractively contrasted against the pale turnip puree. The “dried fruits” in the dish were slivered dried apricots and a lovely topping of what I think were pine nuts and pistachios, again making for a nice color combination (pale green and gold). My sole complaint with this dish was that it was too salty. It’d been brined to achieve its soft-as-butter texture, but too much of a good thing had resulted in deeply-imbedded excess salinity, demoting an otherwise near-perfect nine to a seven-and-a-half or eight.

As tender buttery as it was, the duck was a “tough” act to follow. But to my great surprise, the pork was even better. The meat was cooked exactly to my specifications (medium) and again very tender, served over a large pile of humble, but oh-so-delicious braised cabbage. This was no wilting mush of a cabbage pile, here; it was pleasantly al dente, the natural light sweetness working with the honey sauce rather than being overwhelmed by it. The spice in the honey sauce derived from pepper—generous amounts of freshly ground, cracked black pepper. Its strong flavors did well against the cabbage and pork, and competed in a friendly way with the equally bold, crispy pancetta. The big unknown element of the plate was the fried cream, an unidentifiable round of something breaded, that oozed just slightly when cut, much like warm cream cheese. It was solid, not liquid, and more cheese than cream. It was delicious, but it perched to the side of the cabbage hill like a sideshow, neither here nor there in the flavor notes of the dish. Its primary function is probably to lure diners in search of adventure to an otherwise mundane-ish sounding dish, diners like me who are drawn in to the strange, the unusual, the gluttonous and most especially, the unusually gluttonous. (Cream? Fried? I'm there!) That is, it was a little gimmicky. Not entirely out of place, not entirely in place… but certainly interesting. The jury is still out on this one. Grade: 9.5.

For dessert, we had the pear strudel with gorgonzola ice cream and chocolate and rosemary sauce (strudel di pere con gelato al gorgonzola, salsa di cioccolato e rosomarino). As noted above, I like surprises, and the gorgonzola ice cream was certainly a surprise to me, ironically for how true to the original the flavors were. It was no dumbed down version of gorgonzola in this innocuous-looking white ball; it was the full monty: loud and pleasantly stinky. It perhaps didn’t work perfectly with the milder flavors of the buttery-crusted pear strudel, stuffed generously with raisins and pecans. One thinks first to gentler cheeses like brie or camembert for gentle fruits like pear, even spiced as this one was with cloves and ginger. But it did work for me in the end, if not for the SO.

We had two glasses of poorly matched wine with our meal—poorly matched by our own doing, not the restaurant’s. I thought that a Piedmont red and a spicy Nero D’Avola Chiaramonte Firriato would do well with our entrees, but really the food called for something fruitier and more Cabernet-y than what either wine had to offer. These two glasses and our food came to be a little over $100, excluding the dessert, which the waiter had been nice enough to comp, and tip.

Spiga is, in my book, a far better value than Cesca, the better known destination Italian in the nabe. And it is a cozier, friendlier space, to dine in, too. Food and service are not always perfect, but both are charming and score enough hits to keep me coming back for more.