A study in pre-fab chic.
First is the pointless theme, also known as edgy decor. Public pulls together bureaucratic design components that are suggestive of an institution. Library card catalogues are among the decorative features, as are bookcases with volumes sporting a "Public" label affixed to their spines. Titles include several copies of the Better Homes and Gardens Cook Book, where no doubt one will find several preparations for kangaroo?one of Public's zowee! items, another requisite feature for the "it" restaurant.
The theme continues with a heavy metal door separating the lounge and the restaurant; it looks like the gate to Igor's lair. In the main dining room, uniform tables are lined up in a "table train," attached to one another by some kind of a rod. I was certain that at any moment someone was going to pull a lever, and the tables would creak into motion and creep, assembly-line style, into the kitchen.
No respite is found in the bathroom, where the soap is stacked and labeled?what else??"Public." Cute idea, but a place where free hotel soap intersects with the Dewey Decimal System lies beyond the realm of my imagination. And that deadbolt on the door? A tad much.
Not surprisingly, the more natural design elements (all outside of the "theme") have the most impact. A brilliant move on Public's part was arranging for a civilized smoking area that's as peaceful as a Zen garden. Because the restaurant is elevated, smokers don't crowd the sidewalks like so many huddling derelicts. A young woman puffing away in Public's outdoor space looked positively meditative just by virtue of smoking there.
While the food stood its ground, the menu itself was trying. Restaurants should not be rewarded for fiercely competing in the fusion game. It is confusing, and in rare instances is it more rewarding than straightforward dishes of comparable quality. The pretentious melting-pot menu espoused at Public has already been parodied in countless films and publications, so I'll try not to repeat it here. (My personal favorite is the waiter in American Psycho?"For entrees tonight I have a swordfish meatloaf with onion marmalade, a rare-roasted partridge breast in raspberry coulis with a sorrel timbale...").
Beyond the strenuous mixes, the quality of many key ingredients could have been better. In the side of rainbow beets with avocado oil and parmesan ($7), the beets were watery and marrowy, and had almost no flavor. The thinly sliced cheese was waxy and, again, did not taste like much of anything. This was also the case with the baby carrots served with the lamb. All of these items looked like something but tasted like nothing, and eating them was akin to tasting food with your nose plugged.
The deep-fried minted mozzarella brick pastry with crispy Jerusalem artichokes and chipotle corn relish ($9) was an uncomplicated winner?a fresh and crispy tube filled with soft sweet cheese. Spicy smoked coconut laksa soup with prawn and shiitake dumplings, green-tea noodles, deep-fried quails egg and shallots ($10), was apparently very good, because my dinner guests ambushed it. I managed to get in some of the broth, which was tangy and sweet, although I'll have to take their word that the rest was that good.
Grilled ox tongue with aubergine-cumin relish, quinoa flat bread and roast garlic yogurt ($11) was my pet starter. Superlative tongue makes its way to my family's holiday dinner table at least once a year, and I'm always excited to see how it's prepared outside of the auspices of the Jewish kitchen. Public's version should not be a non-tongue eater's introduction to tongue. Tangy eggplant, crisp triangles of quinoa flats (a great, underutilized grain) and a dollop of tsatziki-like yogurt melded flavorfully?all competent renditions of Mediterranean cooking. Unfortunately, the tongue was woven through with some kind of connective tissue, keeping it from disintegrating in your mouth the way good tongue should. If it was enough to turn off a weathered tongue eater like myself, imagine the trauma it could cause a squeamish first-timer.
For entrees, the pan-fried john dory, a meaty white fish, on saffron fingerling potatoes and watercress ($25) was only so-so. The fish was salty, the potatoes were undercooked. As the restaurant ages, these quirks are likely to improve, but the dish itself wasn't very interesting. The roast lamb chump, a cut taken from the saddle, on goat cheese polenta, roasted baby vegetables and minted yogurt ($23) was also just okay. The meat was tender and moist, but the polenta was a flat fried cake that was a bit oily with little substance.
The muscavado pavlova with grapefruit and espresso cream ($8.50) also lacked depth. It was too sweet, and not terribly sophisticated. The grapefruit sections were, again, somewhat flavorless and dry, and the espresso cream was unremarkable; its effect could probably be achieved by whipping cream with some concentrated coffee in your kitchen.
The standout of the evening was the pecan maple cake with pomegranate molasses, roast pear and creme fraiche ($8.50), which was brimming with rewarding textures and resonant flavors. The plate was strewn with pomegranate seeds, providing a crunch that went brilliantly with the dense, nut-studded, crumbly brown sugary cake (the crème fraiche took a bit of the edge off of the cloying sweetness). The stewed pear was grainy and coy, sitting upright, all the way on the other side of the plate. It's a great fall dessert that would go well with a cup of tea.
Maybe one day, Public will take the books down from the shelves, separate the tables, remove the deadbolt from the bathroom door and become less of a production and more of a place to eat. But until diners who encourage these kinds of places develop their own tastes and identities, there will always be people sucking up to the restaurant of the moment.