Grape and Grain Against the Grain
620 E. 6th St. (betw. Aves. B & C)
212-420-0002 or 212-358-7064
My first visit to Grape and Grain was on a weekday just before twilight. With the large windows open, the cooler night air shifted in and out as diners sat languidly sipping glasses of light Cesconi vino ($11) and sharing a simple pizza topped with cured black olives and goat cheese ($10). Broken-in purple cushions lined the bench seats and reminded me of church pews.
I dined alone and rolled the soft cold tuna carpaccio ($8) around on my tongue. The jalapeno-infused citrus vinaigrette was tangy and a bit heavy, but the toasted nuts gave every bite a satisfying crunch. I followed the tuna with a flaky Shiitake mushroom tart ($9). I could smell the aromatic black truffle oil before the waitress put the plate on my table.
Hidden in the middle of East 6th Street between Avenues B and C, the place seems to draw people on the street, who stop to consult the menu and peek inside, yet it never gets crowded. When someone finally stumbles in off the street, making a big scene and demanding change for a dollar, the waitress looks at me apologetically. “It’s like a view of a walking circus,” she says and then flicks on the sound system, a perfectly appropriate soundtrack of the foreign, sexy Brazilian Girls, followed by bluesy Beck tracks.
I eavesdrop on the fresh-faced women next to me. Someone’s boyfriend discovered her vibrator. I decide I need new friends. Outside it’s rowdy, but inside it’s all warmth and wine buzz and rustic cupboards filled with mismatched plates. The incredibly friendly staff makes helpful suggestions and seems to carefully measure the time between courses, intent on making diners feel at ease.
My second visit is on a Friday night, and the enchanting little restaurant is more crowded. The lighting is almost too dim, and I have to tilt the candle toward my menu in order to read it. The windows are closed and the restaurant seems to have been transformed, though it remains just as lovely as before: caramel wood-paneled floors, copper-colored bar stools lined with terracotta cushions and heating pipes wrapped in burlap balance elegance with gritty minimalism. The waiter sets a pale green bottle of water on the table. He helps me and my friend select a wine, and I order several appetizers to start.
I loved the meaty roasted Portobello salad topped with creamy blue cheese and chewy prosciutto ($8), each texture complementing the others. The charcuterie platter ($21) was served like modern art on a wooden board. Generous samplings of meats—sopresata, tasso and prosciutto—were matched with small Cornish pickles, a variety of cheeses and golden Dijon mustard. The soft, smoked mozzarella was reminiscent of a bonfire, and to my amusement, looked like a lightly toasted marshmallow. I was delighted that the waitstaff didn’t rush out the party of 10 to my left, and so they sat, sipping their wine and enjoying the company of their friends as though they were at a private Tuscan villa.
I completed the meal with an artichoke and shaved Romano pizza ($10). The square slice was at once crispy and doughy, with an infusion of olive oil. It was so delicious and hypnotic that I didn’t even consider the bridesmaid dress that needs to fit me in 18 days. But I did skip dessert—in favor of another glass of deep red wine.
After dinner, I visited the small adjoining beer bar, Against the Grain. Smaller than an East Village apartment, this is the perfect place to get together for a small birthday party or for a quaint tête-à-tête. Romantically dim, the long, communal table in the center is perfect for big groups. The menu of appetizers is not simply an extension of its neighbor, but rather provides different options, such as beer-steamed cockles ($14), beet salad with goat cheese and pumpkin seeds ($8) and oysters with cucumber habanero mignonette (market price). The small menu provides something to tide you over as you select from the unusual beverage list, which spans the beer rainbow from light to amber to very dark. Beers range from a reasonable $5 to an extremely expensive $21, with plenty of middle ground.
The heady and rustic atmosphere, the dim lighting and intimate ambiance transported me—happy and full—beyond the bar’s small confines. I sipped my bitter ale, and just as I prepared to leave, I felt charmed when I heard a long forgotten Pavement track playing from the bartender’s iPod.
620 E. 6th St. (betw. Aves. B & C)
212-420-0002 or 212-358-7064
My first visit to Grape and Grain was on a weekday just before twilight. With the large windows open, the cooler night air shifted in and out as diners sat languidly sipping glasses of light Cesconi vino ($11) and sharing a simple pizza topped with cured black olives and goat cheese ($10). Broken-in purple cushions lined the bench seats and reminded me of church pews.
I dined alone and rolled the soft cold tuna carpaccio ($8) around on my tongue. The jalapeno-infused citrus vinaigrette was tangy and a bit heavy, but the toasted nuts gave every bite a satisfying crunch. I followed the tuna with a flaky Shiitake mushroom tart ($9). I could smell the aromatic black truffle oil before the waitress put the plate on my table.
Hidden in the middle of East 6th Street between Avenues B and C, the place seems to draw people on the street, who stop to consult the menu and peek inside, yet it never gets crowded. When someone finally stumbles in off the street, making a big scene and demanding change for a dollar, the waitress looks at me apologetically. “It’s like a view of a walking circus,” she says and then flicks on the sound system, a perfectly appropriate soundtrack of the foreign, sexy Brazilian Girls, followed by bluesy Beck tracks.
I eavesdrop on the fresh-faced women next to me. Someone’s boyfriend discovered her vibrator. I decide I need new friends. Outside it’s rowdy, but inside it’s all warmth and wine buzz and rustic cupboards filled with mismatched plates. The incredibly friendly staff makes helpful suggestions and seems to carefully measure the time between courses, intent on making diners feel at ease.
My second visit is on a Friday night, and the enchanting little restaurant is more crowded. The lighting is almost too dim, and I have to tilt the candle toward my menu in order to read it. The windows are closed and the restaurant seems to have been transformed, though it remains just as lovely as before: caramel wood-paneled floors, copper-colored bar stools lined with terracotta cushions and heating pipes wrapped in burlap balance elegance with gritty minimalism. The waiter sets a pale green bottle of water on the table. He helps me and my friend select a wine, and I order several appetizers to start.
I loved the meaty roasted Portobello salad topped with creamy blue cheese and chewy prosciutto ($8), each texture complementing the others. The charcuterie platter ($21) was served like modern art on a wooden board. Generous samplings of meats—sopresata, tasso and prosciutto—were matched with small Cornish pickles, a variety of cheeses and golden Dijon mustard. The soft, smoked mozzarella was reminiscent of a bonfire, and to my amusement, looked like a lightly toasted marshmallow. I was delighted that the waitstaff didn’t rush out the party of 10 to my left, and so they sat, sipping their wine and enjoying the company of their friends as though they were at a private Tuscan villa.
I completed the meal with an artichoke and shaved Romano pizza ($10). The square slice was at once crispy and doughy, with an infusion of olive oil. It was so delicious and hypnotic that I didn’t even consider the bridesmaid dress that needs to fit me in 18 days. But I did skip dessert—in favor of another glass of deep red wine.
After dinner, I visited the small adjoining beer bar, Against the Grain. Smaller than an East Village apartment, this is the perfect place to get together for a small birthday party or for a quaint tête-à-tête. Romantically dim, the long, communal table in the center is perfect for big groups. The menu of appetizers is not simply an extension of its neighbor, but rather provides different options, such as beer-steamed cockles ($14), beet salad with goat cheese and pumpkin seeds ($8) and oysters with cucumber habanero mignonette (market price). The small menu provides something to tide you over as you select from the unusual beverage list, which spans the beer rainbow from light to amber to very dark. Beers range from a reasonable $5 to an extremely expensive $21, with plenty of middle ground.
The heady and rustic atmosphere, the dim lighting and intimate ambiance transported me—happy and full—beyond the bar’s small confines. I sipped my bitter ale, and just as I prepared to leave, I felt charmed when I heard a long forgotten Pavement track playing from the bartender’s iPod.
