Good meat, well-aged ambience

• Cuisine: Northern European
• Vibe: Victorian barroom
• Occasion: Neighborhood dining; bar bites; meat cravings.
• Don't Miss: Daily punch, herb and Gruyere spaetzle, Vesper Brett, Prime Meats burger.
• Price: Appetizers, $9; entrees, $13; dessert, $5.
• Reservations: No reservations accepted. Cash only.
• Phone: (718) 254-0327
• Location: 465 Court St., at Luquer St., Brooklyn

Remember when Sam the butcher used to make house calls to the Bradys?

The Brady-era butcher shops were different from earlier ones. Through the end of the 19th century, most New York butcher shops were owned by Central European immigrants. They didn't just sell ground meat, tenderloins and pork chops. They also sold sausages, spaetzle and sauerkraut.

Prime Meats, a new restaurant in Carroll Gardens, honors the tradition. In fact, the restaurant was inspired by a German butcher-shop sign from the 1880s that hung on Flatbush Ave. The weathered sign now hangs behind a handsome wood bar at Prime Meats, which also belongs to another era. The barkeeps, with suspenders, vests and curled mustaches, serve period cocktails like daiquiris, Manhattans and Applejack Sazeracs. They really get into character, according to owners Frank Falcinelli, Frank Castronovo and Greg Fanslau.

The only thing that really gives away our era is the Grateful Dead music playing in the background. The long, narrow barroom is outfitted with a creamy tin ceiling, dark wood booths and romantic lighting. There's also an outdoor dining area with potted baby basil plants on the tables and backyard lights overhead. Upstairs is a butcher department where the chefs cure their own meats and make their own outstanding pickles and sauerkraut.

The menu revolves around Northern European dishes, like spaetzle, braised cabbage and bratwurst. The best way to sample the charcuterie is to order the Vesper Brett, a generous spread of bacon, “gourmet bologna” and a terrific farmer's sausage that has a pâté-like texture. They also bake their breads in-house, including a soft Bavarian pretzel served with the weisswurst - an unusually tender white sausage made with pork, veal and parsley.

Address: 142 W. 10th St., at Waverly Place.
Phone: (212) 255-2330.
Dinner: Tues.-Sun., 5:30-11 p.m. Closed Mondays.
Cuisine: Creative European.
Vibe: Stylish lounge.
Occasion: Intimate date; chic dining.
Don't Miss Dish: Four-cheese ravioli; ginger-roasted red snapper.
Price: Appetizers, $12-$18; entrees, $26-$36; desserts, $10.
Reservations: Recommended.

Everyone looks beautiful at Bar Blanc. Perhaps it's the way the candlelight bounces off the polished white tables that casts an unmistakably flattering glow throughout the space. It's a stylish stage set in the West Village, where diners lounge on shimmery banquettes in the 65-seat dining room. Bar stools wear plush leather and even the servers are fashionably dressed.

But make no mistake: Bar Blanc is an ambitious restaurant in a laid-back disguise. This supposed "wine bar" offers a four-course tasting menu ($72) that begins with steamed foie gras and follows with sea scallops and Burgundy escargot. Chef César Ramirez, who runs this spot alongside two other Bouley alumni, has devised an eclectic, French-based menu. Thus, you can start with tuna sashimi before settling into savory lasagna stacked with braised lamb.

I immediately entered into a love-hate relationship with a duo of tuna: On one side of the plate, an exquisitely fresh piece of sashimi nestles in crispy burdock, tender elf mushrooms and a black truffle dressing - a beguiling interplay of textures and flavors. On the other, a disconcertingly salty tuna confit gets a pasty anchovy dressing with shocks of rosemary.

Other appetizers aren't quite such stormy affairs. In fact, Ramirez is skilled at balancing acts. There is a baby Boston lettuce salad with a poached egg, and a palate-cleansing tangerine gelée that tempers a herbaceous dressing. He also offsets the succulence of sweetbreads and slow-roasted rabbit with a delicate spill of ricotta. A roasted red snapper gets a shiso dashi broth that forms a smoky-sweet glaze around the fish and infiltrates a tofu puree.

Even better, the homemade ravioli look like a store-bought sheet straight from a box. It's a deceptive maneuver with criminally delicious returns: Each doughy pocket gets plumped with a vivacious mix of four cheeses and spackled with a silky lettuce sauce. It's a superb indication of the kind of performance Ramirez is capable of, but often fails to deliver here.

Some dishes simply looked better than they tasted. Drumstick sausages, bursting with flavor, steal the limelight from a bland centerpiece of "slow-cooked organic chicken" that slips into the backdrop. There was an artfully plated but indistinctive black cod eclipsed by a surplus of accessories. The same was true of a tough strip steak that couldn't be salvaged, even by a rich bone marrow sauce.

Though Bar Blanc proves a stylish showcase, the kitchen can be inconsistent. During one dinner, seared scallops with an orange confit were beautifully caramelized and juicy. At another dinner, they emerged rare and gummy, deflecting any sweetness the orange confit had previously invited. A bittersweet chocolate cake was moist on a first visit, dry and chalky on a return trip - not to mention remarkably small.

The best of the menu's low-impact desserts was a Meyer lemon soufflé accompanied by huckleberry marmalade. You'd be wise to revisit the handsome wine list as you bask in the irresistible glimmer of the room. If only you could request ambience in a doggie bag.

115 Allen St. (btwn. Delancey & Rivington Sts.)
Phone: (212) 253-5400
Hours: Dinner, Mon.-Sat., 6 p.m.-12 a.m., Sun., 5 p.m.-11 a.m.
CUISINE  Contemporary European.
VIBE Cozy lower East Side haunt.
OCCASION  Romantic dinner; Bar dining.
DON'T-MISS DISH  Caramelized bone marrow, Sweetbread raviolo
PRICE Appetizers, $12-18; entrees, $20-29; desserts, $10.
RESERVATIONS  Highly recommended.

At Allen & Delancey, a well-heeled woman spooned bone marrow into her mouth. It was a nonchalant bar gesture, followed by a leisurely sip of a cocktail.

This is a culinary sign of the times.

Henry David Thoreau once wrote, "Live deep and suck out all the marrow of life." Dining on bone marrow was likely not what the philosopher had in mind, but fitting, as this is not an uncommon sight at New York City restaurants in the 21st century.

Allen & Delancey is the perfect place to heed Thoreau's advice. It is a warm, nearly wintry lower East Side haunt. Reminiscent of a gentlemen's library, the upfront bar is lined with artisanal bitters, books and frameless paintings. The black bar top is as glossy as the creamy pearls of paddlefish caviar that crown the caramelized marrow. It's a luscious appetizer that can be indulged on a bar stool or at a dimly lit banquette in the main dining quarters.

Owner Richard Friedberg has appointed sommelier Glenn Vogt and chef Neil Ferguson to tend to this romantic room. Having been recently released from Gordon Ramsay's upscale inferno, this is as far removed from the chilly formality of The London Hotel as Ferguson can get.

But Ferguson is a British chef, versed in the refined art of French cooking. This is also a chef with a serious offal and organ meat fixation. Thus, the menu pivots on a sophisticated and downright hearty axis.

Ethereal sweetbreads are tucked into a raviolo atop braised cabbage and a vigorous Bolognese sauce. A supremely tender lamb chop comes topped with a zesty persillade and sided by succulent braised lamb's neck. An excellent Moulard duck breast shares a plate with seared foie gras; its buttery richness ably tempered by the earthy bitterness of turnip confit and button radishes.

In matters of seafood, Ferguson also enlists the bold, lusty flavors of meat. He infuses bacon into gnocchi below mackerel, and wraps fluke in a smoky blanket of prosciutto. Both have tasty results.

When he doesn't employ animal offerings, fish tends to register as a blank slate, too reliant on accompaniments for flavor. A hunk of cod served as a bland sideshow for a well-seasoned saute of artichokes, peppers and lemon confit; a tasteless branzino was matched with a muted onion stew, and slivers of hamachi washed away in an acrid sea of grapefruit and pickled fennel.

Though dessert demands decadence and indulgence, Ferguson becomes shy and all too restrained. A sparsely dressed mélange of fall fruit wore nothing more than timid hibiscus syrup. It surely deserved buttery crumble or moist cake. Caramelized tangerines suffered a sterile marriage to frigid chunks of clementine. The closest I got to richness was a pale shade of chocolate cremeux that merely hinted at a lukewarm sweetness. This was dessert, not afternoon tea.

Still, Allen & Delancey boasts more than its share of meaty delights. Even if you're not an organ eater by nature, his wickedly light sweetbread raviolo may persuade you to explore a more carnivorous side. Allen & Delancey is an inviting hideaway, where guests can store up for winter on savory European classics and hibernate from the cold.

At Chez Bobo, beauty runs only skin deep.
181 W. 10th St., at Seventh Ave.
(212) 488-2626
Dinner: Mon.-Thur., 6 p.m.-11 p.m., Fri-Sat, 6 p.m.-12 a.m., closed Sundays.
CUISINE  European bistro
VIBE  Brownstone chic
OCCASION  See-and-be-seen dinner; cocktails.
DON'T-MISS DISH  Tarte flambee
PRICE  Appetizers, $8-16; entrees, $18-26; desserts, $7.
RESERVATIONS  Recommended

Checking in for dinner at Bobo feels like you're checking into a bed and breakfast - in the West Village. Reservationists answer the phone, "Bobo residence." Hosts greet from behind an antique desk. The only thing missing is the little bell on the counter.

Once you pass the hostess desk, you feel as if you've entered a European dinner party or a chic supper club with homespun charms. Chef Nicolas Cantrel's European bistro menu similarly follows suit: bouillabaisse, steak frites and tarte flambee.

Owner Carlos Suarez has also enlisted his cousin, designer Dolores Suarez, and Caroline Grant (Dekar) to decorate this two-story brownstone. The subterranean first floor is quaintly trimmed with brass candlesticks, an antique organ and books from Carlos' personal collection.

I suggest you first make a pit stop for a drink. The dinner party starts as the fashionable swarm around an even more fashionable hound's-tooth-clad bar. There's also an impressive selection of cocktails: The most spirited was the Bobo's Mead, a gin-based libation, fragrantly infused with lavender honey and lemon.

Upstairs, you'll encounter a formal dining room, romantically lavished with red silk curtains, fireplaces and waterfall chandeliers that cascade from the ceiling. It's a notably "see and be seen" crowd, table-hopping between the two floors.

Unfortunately, the food stands in striking disharmony with the attractive ambience. The majority of the Pan-European fare neither looked nor tasted particularly appetizing, which is perplexing considering the chef's impressive pedigree.

After all, Cantrel diligently trained under Alain Ducasse for nine years and recently served as the executive sous chef at Country. Perhaps Cantrel had checked out of this "bed & breakfast" early, or was busy mingling with guests. Or even skipped the dinner party altogether.

A safe start is the tarte flambee. A warm, crunchy flatbread showcases smoky bacon, onion and a rich crème fraiche. But this is as good as it gets - a diamond in the rough - among a very rough run of sub-standard dishes.

The chef couldn't possibly have laid eyes on the emaciated chicken presented to our table one evening, or let such a perilously fishy branzino pass through the kitchen doors on another visit.

To get to the tuna confit in a Mediterranean salad, I had to peel a gelatinous shield off the egregiously salty fish. Even then, I was left with little more than a grim mix of diced tomatoes, celery leaves and a lone anchovy. Steak tartare amassed gamy tenderloin chunks that all but surrendered to unrelenting waves of vinegar.

The chicken grandmere (a classic French fricassee) looked like it had been on a reality show for weight loss - and won. All skin and bones, this floppy-skinned bird was easily upstaged by a side of buttery whipped potatoes.

Stiff almond pappardelle wore a gloppy cloak; lamb chops were tough; and chestnut soup panned out to be no thicker than water. Unappealing plates were par for the course and even mediocre ones were too few and far between.

If you're not the eating type - or particularly hungry - then Bobo's beguiling setting is a perfect way to spend the evening in someone else's home. For those more concerned with culinary matters, you may want to eat before you check into this house of style.

Address: 71 Spring St., btwn. Crosby & Lafayette Sts.
Phone: 212.966.5050
Cuisine: French-bent global
Vibe: Modern swank
Scene: Euro crowd
Hours: Dinner, Mon - Thu, 5:30pm - 10:30pm; Fri & Sat, 5:30pm - 11pm; Lunch, Friday, 12pm-2:30pm.
First Bite Impressions: Lost in translation
Price: Appetizers, $14; Entrees, $30.
Reservations: Reservations recommended.
www.frognyc.com

Chef Didier Virot & his partner Philip Kirsh are testing their luck at NYC's restaurant roulette again.  While Virot's first venture notably brought refined French to the Upper West Side, he's decided this time to tempt fate in Soho with a mixed bag of nearly every cuisine under the "French sun" (Lebanon, Morocco, Vietnam, & Africa to name a few).  The two-level space also happens to be in throwing distance from Balthazar, which makes it nearly impossible to avoid side-by-side comparisons to McNally's French tour de force.  But unlike Balthazar's worn-in brasserie decor, FR.OG looks nothing like France.  From a white marble bar to pink ultrasuede banquettes & disco ball-mirrored stairwell, the sleek setting feels more like a swanky nightclub than a restaurant. 

While the setting implies frivolity, both the menu and prices suggest an aggressive reach toward destination status.  It's difficult enough to master one region's cuisine, but upwards of four countries is ambitious to say the least.  But Chef Virot attempts just that with a global brew: braised lamb shank with roasted duck breast with cinnamon & Moroccan couscous, monkfish in tajine and foie gras sauteed with ginger crust.  Moroccan spices even make their way onto the cocktail menu, implemented by mixologist Robin Lewis, who concocts saffron-perfumed champagne & Vietnamese herb-infused rum.  I sampled a ginger rose, a honeyed elixir of gin, litchi & ginger - a drink that's pleasing on its own, but unfortunately clashed with my curiously plated seared lamb loin (note the photo).  Unsettling, no?  This long, tasty rope of lamb snuck a lemony kick from a dusting of sumac (nonpoisonous red berry), but went sadly unserved by a tasteless taboulee, apparently just for show.  Ditto on a mess of shredded cabbage & carrots that accompanies cardamom & cane sugar-crusted scallops to the table. 

Mismatched plates seem a running theme at FR.OG, again rearing its head in an entree of colossal shrimp - indeed enormous - but practically upstaged by a phallic-looking & remarkably tasteless, eggplant roll.  But once tossed aside, the deliciously juicy, coriander-spiked shrimp cushioned by the cool pillow of celery root & coconut puree.  Likewise, a springy melange of fresh corn, carrots, cabbage & bacon, was the perfect interplay of smoky and delicate textures.  If only it weren't served with an overcooked & chewy pork loin fell flat, seasoned with a barey discernible caramel-ginger sauce.

Chef Andres Vasquez pulls off a luxuriously moist coffee-tinged sponge cake with a naughty mound of Bailey's ice cream.  A prim riff on peanut butter & jelly, the peanut butter bomb itself delights, but strikes discord against a "salad" of strawberries, pine nuts & olive oil.  The word salad should never ever appear on a dessert menu.  Alas, most diners, were too busy texting or scamming to appreciate Virot's overly precious plates.  FR.OG suffers from an identity crisis: it strives toward chef-driven stardom while simultaneously luring a scenester clientele. 

Until we eat again,
Restaurant Girl
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Address: 137 East 55th St., btwn. 3rd & Lexington Aves.
Phone: 212.755.7055
Cuisine: French-Moroccan
Vibe: Exotic Arabian escape
Scene: Euro crowd
Hours: Dinner, Mon - Sat, 5:30pm- 12am.  Lounge hours, Mon - Fri, 5:30pm - 4AM, Sat. 10pm - 4am. 
Scoop: Multitask - shop while you imbibe in the downstairs store filled with Moroccan wares
Price: Appetizers, $5-11.  Entrees, $22-34.
Reservations: Reservations accepted.
www.azzanyc.com

Ever wonder what happened to Fizz, that members-only supper club & lounge in midtown, which suddenly lifted its exclusionary policy to fill the swanky void within?  Neither did I, but apparently it "fizzled" into the night, not shocking considering the allure of downtown Lotus, Marquee and Stereo.  In its wake, Restaurateur Djamal Zoughbi and his partner Thierry Pomies have ambitiously revamped the space, unveiling French-Moroccan Azza.  Gone are the moneyed namedroppers and impossible Fizz guest lists, replaced by a kindler, gentler Euro-centric crowd. 

If you happen to be in midtown east, Azza merits a visit on aesthetics alone: What could've potentially looked like Epcot's Moroccan Pavillion (yes I've been), manages to eclipse kitschy artifice.  The palatial space is exotically festooned with gold & burgundy accents, vibrant lanterns and pillows, all amassed by Djamal himself on trips to Morocco.  Upon entering Azza, mismatched antique rugs line a lengthy candlelit front hall, draped in shimmering blue tapestries.  Wander left and you'll happen upon the restaurant, but continue down the stairs and you'll find yourself wandering through a subterranean series of moody lounges equipped with hookahs, wireless and a rotating cast of DJ's. 

Naturally, I veered left toward the wireless-free dining room, which was furbished with Gustav Klimt-like wall murals and gilded chairs.  While cuisine tends to be an afterthought at lounges involving DJ booths & dancing, the French-Moroccan menu is so much better than it has to be.  Even more unexpected than the simple, yet polished offerings, is that chef Stephen Ferdinand (Le Zoo & Aquavit) employs only organic ingredients in a flurry of mezze, couscous & tagines.

The best of the offerings are the mezze, liberally sprinkled with fresh mint, lemon, harissa and cinammon.  The seared yellowfin tuna, perfectly rare and tender, packed a laden harissa heat offset by a drizzling of honey.  Well-charred octopus was nicely posed on barely blanched chickpeas with mint, but I was uncharacteristically more taken by a gently sweet, baby carrot salad, crowned with diced mango & fresh dill.  While I usually skip over all things fried when judging the merits of a menu - because almost anything tastes good drenched in hot oil - the fried cigars, rolled in a phyllo dough then stuffed with supremely fresh spinach & melting goat cheese, are not to be missed.  Unfortunately, a heaping bowl of bland & tough falafel is.

If not for the theatrics alone, order a tagine which arrives tableside in traditional clay pots.  A moist tagine chicken came stewing in a blissful puddle of orange flower-perfumed demi glace and dotted with marcona almond-stuffed dates.  We bid adieu to Azza with warm sugar & spice donuts accompanied by a honeyed dipping sauce, a refined take on Dunkin Donut's munchkins.

Limited by not only its midtown locale, but also its clubby vibe, DJ and French Tuesdays, Azza is destined to exist as a Euro-bent nightlife destination that just happens to have good food.

Until we eat again,
Restaurant Girl
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204 West 55th St., btwn. 7th & Broadway Aves.
212-245-1234

TYPE: Mediterranean-American
VIBE: Whimsical opulence
OCCASION: Chichi date or group gathering
DON'T MISS DISH: Roasted sea bass with rock shrimp
DON'T BOTHER DISH: Stuffed ribeye steak
DRINK SPECIALTY: Aperitifs & global wine list
PRICE: $55 & up
HOURS: Dinner, Sun - Mon, 5 PM-10 PM; Tue – Thu, 5PM-11PM, Fri & Sat, 5 PM – 12 AM.  Lunch daily, 11 AM - 3 PM (Start date TBD).
INSIDE SCOOP: Lounge open with a separate 55th St. entrance, Sun - Wed, 5PM - 2AM, Thu-Sat, 5PM- 4AM (Start date TBD).
RESERVATIONS: Reservations accepted.
RESTAURANT GIRL RATES: 5.5 on food, 8 on atmosphere
FINAL WORD: While undeniably posh, this well-heeled newcomer leans on style over substance: the cuisine slightly falters.  When in midtown, drop into Amalia for exotic desserts & handcrafted aperitifs. 

Does restaurateur Greg Brier know something we don’t: Is midtown west set to become the Meatpacking District for 2007?  Highly unlikely.  But with 7000 square feet and 88 seats to fill, someone’s banking on trendy traffic in these parts. 

DECOR
Amalia is undeniably ambitious: black Murano chandeliers dangle elegantly above an ornate mosaic-tiled staircase as candlelight dances off brick walls and a gold leaf bar.  And that’s just the entrance.  Named after Sigmund Freud’s mother, the restaurant takes a thematic cue from the adjacent Dream Hotel.  It’s simultaneously childlike and sophisticated; sultry and playful; an Alice in Wonderland meets Versailles.  I traveled through a series of wood-paneled enclaves with Baroque-inspired accents to my table, set dramatically below a painting-clad ceiling.  The work of SL design (Marquee & Aspen), nothing about this space is subtle, and yet still manages to elude feeling contrived.

MENU
Though chef Ivy Stark most recently occupied two Mexican kitchens (Dos Caminos & Rosa Mexicano), at Amalia she focuses her efforts on Mediterranean-American preparations with liberal applications of Tunisian & Moroccan seasonings:  charmoula crusted salmon, foie gras with ras el hanout, and lamb osso bucco paired with harissa.  The menu’s also studded with fashionable ingredients: vanilla, meyer lemon, lavender and blood oranges.  Freud may have been preoccupied with his mother, Amalia, Ivy Stark seems particularly fixated on pomegranates: pomegranate vinaigrette, sorbet, aperitif, cocktails and even pomegranate walnut butter.

WINE & COCKTAILS:
The wine list runs the global gamut: Italy, France, Morocco, Turkey, and even Lebanon.  There’s a noteworthy selection of seasonally altered classic cocktails and house-aged eau de vie (aperitifs).  After failed attempts to order both the dried apricot and the pear-cardamom (both out of stock), I sampled a gentle, but sweet pomegranate, better suited for post-dinner endeavors.  My companion wisely opted for a vibrant rosemary-lemon elixir with earthy currents of thyme.  I highly recommend it.   

FOOD:
Upon surveying nearby tables, it seemed par for the course to invest in the trio of spreads served with warm herbed pita, my favorite being a creamy whip of avocado hummus.  While the bitterness of vanilla-pickled red onions proved too overpowering for a mild hamachi crudo, a tender eggplant & goat cheese “lasagnette”, sauced with roasted tomatoes & basil, was a flavorful venture. 

As far as entrees go, my advice is to stick with seafood.  I stumbled on a roasted sea bass gem.  Light & firm, the crispy-skinned sea bass was generously crowned with a wonderfully tangy picholine olive salsa verde and well-browned potatoes.  In stark contrast to the fish, the meatier offerings suffered.  A double-cut roasted pork chop, perilously undercooked, warranted an immediate return to the kitchen.  Upon second delivery, it arrived tough and dry, though I did enjoy the side of roasted fuji apples.  Ditto on an uninspired ribeye, an indistinct chewy cut, oddly stuffed with wild mushrooms.  While the menu theoretically conveys creative combinations of seasonings and ingredients, most of the flavors don't make it to the plate.  Just as the sea bass held great promise, Amalia's menu will hopefully prove to be a work in progress. 

DESSERT
The savory paled in comparison to a spirited and exotic dessert menu, created by John Miele, the former pastry chef at Aureole.  Miele crafts exotic spins on familiar desserts: apple & pecan crisp served with a heated urfa chile ice cream, and a crème brulee trio with rosemary and Tahitian vanilla twists.  My favorite offering was fortuitously added to the menu only that morning: crunchy polenta streusel topping was the perfect foil for this moist cake adrift in a dark pool of chocolate, and accompanied by a fluffy ricotta gelato.  While only an accessory to warm bananas & katafi (reminiscent of shredded wheat), the frozen lemon yogurt struck a perfectly tart and luscious balance, demanding my undivided attention.

Until we eat again,
Restaurant Girl
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121 East 17th St., btwn. Park & Irving Place
212-353-2121

TYPE: Continental grab bag
VIBE: Charmed townhouse
OCCASION: A romantic date or glass of wine
DON'T MISS DISH: Roasted zucchini with pattypan squash & cracked olives
DON'T BOTHER DISH: Seared branzino
DRINK SPECIALTY: A sturdy wine list with quartino & half-bottle offerings
PRICE: $50 & up
HOURS: Dinner, Sun - Tue, 5 PM - 2 AM; Wed - Sat, 5 PM - 3 AM; Sat & Sun, Brunch, 11:30 AM - 3:15 PM. 
RESERVATIONS: Reservations accepted, recommended for third floor dining.
RESTAURANT GIRL RATES: 4 on food, 8 on ambience
FINAL WORD: You'll want to move into this bewitching Gramercy townhouse, but beware of a grumpy master of "The House" and a dull hodgepodge of undistinguished fare.

It's not often you discover a restaurant quite as inviting as The House, at least as far as appearances ago.  Even from the outside, the beautiful brick exterior and generous black-paned windows of this 1854 carriage house demand attention.  Upon entering through a little black door, visitors seem instantly taken by the glamorous black & white decor, crystal chandeliers, etched mirrors and silver-coated brick walls.  While the main floor's tall tables and stools lend themselves to a wine bar atmosphere, the upstairs dining room serenely towers over a quiet Gramercy street.   

As you stand in the entrance, you can't help but wonder why there hasn't been much buzz about this new spot.  But as Eater deftly pointed out, the restaurant's all but unsearchable and apart from The House's website, it practically doesn't exist. The master of "The House", who goes only by J.P. and refuses to disclose his full name, is curiously resistant to answering any questions about his restaurant.  As I waited by the front door, I noticed that every visitor who arrived was not greeted, but rather eyed suspiciously as if some stranger had showed up and rung the doorbell unexpectedly.  After being forced to waiting in a tiny front entranceway for fifteen minutes with no sign of a table, a party of four with reservations gave up and went elsewhere.  The House was unsympathetic to the group at best.  I had made my reservation only that morning and, while the third floor dining room was full, there was room on the first floor.  "I prefer that floor.  It's where the chef's table is," the hostess assured me.

BASEMENT DINING
I don't recommend it.  Dining on this floor is like eating in a basement kitchen.  We were sat directly next to the server station, where waiters came and went with orders.  It's usually the norm for chefs to work inside the kitchen, but consulting chef Sean Olnowich (Wild Thyme in the Hamptons) stood on the outside passively inspecting plated dishes as they made their way to the dining room.  I attempted to distract myself from the bustle with the wine list; an eclectic and happily inspired 150-bottle selection, featuring 15 quartinos and 25 half-bottles.  I settled upon a ambrosial red - Agamium 2004 from Piedmont - which for only $38, was the very definition of a "bang for your buck" bottle.

THE MENU
It's confusing.  While the menu leans toward Continental - oysters rockefeller, lobster club and a raw bar - it's also dotted with Italian dishes, like rigatoni, lasagna and assorted salumi.  Then there's the random hummus and baba ganoush offering, which Bruni makes note of in his Diner's Journal.  What no one seems to pick up on is the only thing that ties tuna crudo, a raw bar and hummus together is the lack of actual preparation involved.  With only four burners and three floors of tables, the menu is a strategic effort to minimize the number of dishes that require cooking. 

THE FOOD
We started with the yellowfin tuna crudo; four thin slices of fish, coated in a caper-olive relish, then garnished with an anchiovy aioli and bottarga powder.  While the fish was silky and fresh, it was suffocated by both the salty caper-olive relish and fishy anchovy oil.  A market-fresh bowl of roasted baby zucchini, tossed with plum tomatoes and pattypan squash, received a bright kick from cracked green & black olives.

I thought I'd strike up a conversation with the chef (seeing as he was stationed only a foot away), while we waited for our entrees.  "I'm more of a consultant for the restaurant.  I'm supervising a bunch of different projects in the city right now," the chef insisted when I inquired about his new job.  So much for small talk.

The seared branzino was an unremarkable fish served atop an unpleasantly cold and bland white bean salad with yellow beets.  I didn't want to eat at the restaurant and not indulge in their signature, "The House" Lasagna.  A slice of lasagna arrived unravelled: a warm mess of tomato sauce was studded with a flavorful wild boar and undetectable pancetta.  It was good, not great.

DESSERT
The House offers a daily selection of Blackhound's baked goods,  Il Laboratorio del Gelato ice cream and Steve's key lime tart, which begs the question: who is Steve?  Apparently Red Hook's key lime connoisseur, it was indeed nicely tart and smooth.  But if I want to eat store-bought desserts, I'll make a City Bakery run and adjourn to my apartment.   

Until we eat again,
Restaurant Girl
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235 East 4th St., btwn. A & B Aves.
(212)254-2900
EU Website

TYPE: European gastropub
VIBE: Rustic farmhouse meets brasserie
OCCASION: Neighborhood nibbles or casual date
DON'T MISS DISH: Grilled octopus with chickpeas, tomato & preserved lemon
DON'T BOTHER DISH: Foie gras-stuffed quail
DRINK SPECIALTY: International beer & wine list
PRICE: $40 & up
INSIDE SCOOP: During daylight hours, E.U. will double as a greenmarket/deli (TBD)
HOURS: Dinner, Tue - Thu, 5:30 PM - 11:00 PM, Sat, 5:30 PM - 12 AM, Sun, 5:30 PM - 10 PM; Brunch, Sat. & Sun, 11 AM - 3:30 PM.  Closed on Mondays.
RESERVATIONS: Reservations accepted, recommended on weekends.
RESTAURANT GIRL RATES: N/A (Opening night for Chef Akhtar Nawab)
FINAL WORD: With a menu that seems to span the global map, this European gastropub overextends itself.  Perhaps E.U. should hone in on what Akhtar Nawab does best and forsake the name for something Mediterranean.

Restaurant drama at its finest, the saga of E.U. continues: enter Ahktar Nawab, a prominent chef whose last role was chef de cuisine at Craftbar.  As Akhtar ambitiously outgrew Craftbar's menu, Tom Colicchio and Akhtar Nawab parted ways.  After much anticipation for Akhtar's next role as the chef of Allen & Delancey, a Mediterranean restaurant set to open on the Lower East Side, the venture came up $150,000 short, failing to come to fruition. 

So Akhtar accepted the chef position at E.U., a bold move considering the dark cloud that looms over this ill-fated gastropub, owned by Jason Hennings (Diablo Royale) and Bob Giraldi.  Having suffered delayed openings due to liquor license issues, a flood and the curious departures of four chefs, E.U. has tragically become theatrical fodder for the food world.  But I suppose if anyone could lift the curse from this spot, it would be an up-and-coming chef who has managed to impress critics with his inspired cooking.

THE SETTING:
Designer AvroKo (Quality Meats & Stanton Social) has struck again with signatures of the exposed brick, bare bulb, & worn wood-beamed ceiling sorts.  The rustic accoutrements manage to evoke a cozy gastropub vibe.

THE SERVICE:
While E.U. had reopened some weeks ago, it felt more like opening night as servers kept bobbling our order.  On a more personal note - why must servers prematurely snatch up wine glasses with a full-fledged last slip left in the glass?  (I'm just putting it out there.)

THE MENU:
E.U. (short for European Union) covers its bases: charcuterie, a raw bar, tapas and dishes from Spain, Germany, Austria, France, Italy, you get the picture.  From stuffed quail to bauernwurst sausage to sardines a la plancha, this menu reads like a potluck dinner.  The latest rendition of the menu reflects a notably scaled down selection of hearty fare (gone are the schnitzle & cassoulet), perhaps an effort to accomodate their new, Mediterranean-bent chef.

THE FARE:
Without further ado, let's get down to the European-inflected gastropub grub. As far as appetizers go, there was the very
good, the bad and the ugly.  First, the good: the grilled octopus a la plancha paid superior homage to Spain.  Terrifically charred on the outside, sweet & supple within, the octopus was delectably brightened with paper-thin slices of preserved lemon, orange, roasted tomatoes & springy chickpeas.

The bad: a traditional French pate of duck, chicken liver & foie gras, came topped with a foie gras fat seal, laced with quince paste.  Though the seal itself was firm and rich, what lay beneath tasted overly dense and oddly bland. 

And then, there was the ugly: while the foie gras-stuffed quail with blood orange sounded decadently delicious, it practically walked over to the table on its own.  I'm extremely partial to rare preparations, but this rubbery-skinned fowl was sorely undercooked to the point of no return.  My eating partner and I simultaneously recoiled from the fear-inducing dish, returning back to the near-perfect octopus.  I couldn't help but wonder - how could these two dishes possibly come from the same kitchen?

Most gastropubs rely on savory comfort food dishes, like short ribs.  E.U. serves a crispy version coated in brioche bread crumbs, an apparently French preparation hailing from the city of Toulouse.  After one bite, I concluded that short ribs are better left unbreaded.  The mushy bread coating suffocated what could've potentially been fall-off-the-bone meat, obscurely paired with fingerling potatoes and a dollop of horseradish-spiked creme fraiche.

Next, wildly intense and nutty bluefoot chanterelles stole the limelight from a functional pan-roasted halibut with a sprinkling of pistachios, served with a cider pistachio vinaigrette.  I finished with a flavorful side of braised cabbage and earthy chestnuts. 

In an effort to cover the entire European Union, this restaurant offers a smattering of international fare, yet fails to excel at any one cuisine, resulting in a flurry of random and inconsistent dishes.  But with one standout - a house-made pretzel with bauernwurst sausage - already garnering a loyal following, not to mention the distinguished octopus, let's hope that E.U. can work out the kinks.

Until we eat again,
Restaurant Girl

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243 West 14th Street (betwn. 7th & 8th Aves.)
(212)620-0077

TYPE: Global cuisine
VIBE: Moody Meatpacking (sans the velvet rope)
OCCASION:  Dining in packs or "seal the deal" late-night with a cocktail and dessert
DON'T MISS DISH: Honey's ceviche trio
DON'T BOTHER DISH: Paella tapas & apple cobbler
PRICE: $40 (with a cocktail)
HOURS: Monday through Wednesday, 5 PM-2 AM; Thursday-Saturday 5 PM-4 AM; Sunday 5 PM-12 AM.
RESTAURANT GIRL RATES: 6 (above average)
SEATING: 90 seats & private room in the back (holds 40)
FINAL WORD: Eat with a fast crowd - commitment phobic diners can load up on appetizers before taking their place in line at Marquee or Bungalow 8.

Honey isn't a dining destination per se, but it's certainly an appealing Meatpacking alternative to the bouncer and velvet rope-plagued, mob scenes of late.  Happily lacking the in your face accoutrements of most of its neighbors (Buddakan & Sascha), this warm, candle-lit restaurant lounge is mellowly outfitted with tan walls, brown banquettes and mirrored-walls.  In fact, there's really nothing in your face about this newcomer, except perhaps for the ubiquitous appearance of honey in both the food and cocktails.  Matt Shendel, creator of Dip & Cain, delivers Honey, geared toward a hipster crowd, dishing in global cuisine, heavy on the Spanish and Asian influences. 

With Victor Rodriguez in the kitchen (Dos Caminos), Honey's food is worth not overlooking, that is, if you concentrate your efforts wholly on the appetizers, especially the ceviches.  A trio of extremely fresh and creative ceviches - tuna colada, shrimp daiquiri and minted snapper - managed to make such an impression on my eating companions, that each argued a different favorite (mine was the tuna colada).  Though the strawberry vinaigrette in the shrimp daiquiri disturbed me in theory as another gimmicky ploy to be different, it was nonetheless, a flavorful and plump shrimp offering.  Likewise, not a complaint was uttered about the tuna colada, washed with a wasabi-flavored coconut juice or the snapper with mint.  Even the warm spinach dip, dressed up with a winter truffle essence, was devoured, pumpernickel bagel chips and all.  

If only we had continued on through the appetizer menu, we might've sailed through dinner without disappointment.  But committed to experiencing Rodriguez' food and the greatly praised paella tapas (by Rodriquez himself & the staff), we discovered mostly misguided entrees, a perfect example being the paella tapas. Hot on the trail of the recent paella trend, this one came deconsructed, which brought me to the conclusion that paella was never intended for dissection, but rather should be preserved as a celebrated mess of yellow rice with chorizo and seafood buried treasure.  However, this Japanese spin, arrived with red snapper atop all too carefully molded rectangles of dry yellow rice, oddly drizzled in honey pimiento coulis, with a side of chorizo .  Similarly, I grieved over the wasabi pea crusted ahi tuna - a plate stacked with nicely seared tuna, but poorly paired with a heavy soba seaweed salad and a flavorless maki roll, a thoughtless plate filler.  I took no issue with the espresso rubbed kobe flatiron steak, other than the fact that it was weighing down a fluffy plate-sized fetarepa - a fluffy corn pancake with feta and mozzarella cheese - delicately dressed in a white horseradish miso foam. 

As for dessert, skip the dry and tasteless apple cobbler, but don't pass over the  "smore-like" molten chocolate cake, layered with graham cracker twile and a velvety marshmallow meringue.      

Until we eat again,
Restaurant Girl

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