A tasty elegance.
Just steps from Javits, there's an outpost it seems the conventioneers have yet to discover. The manager inquires, do we work in the neighborhood? No, we live in the neighborhood. Filmstrippy graphics dot the room, which is color-coordinated in mod brown and aqua. There are gray molded chairs and frosted glass. Your table is set with brown paper mats and cloth napkins. Thistles sit in vases. A big saltwater tank with lively inhabitants overlooks the room, which seems somewhat thrown together and yet is quite likeable. Fun electronica plays in the background. "What's that?" "It's either the music, or we have to evacuate." The thinnest of laptops are in use. It's all very adult and citified. And there are outdoor tables for those recalcitrant renegade smokers. A model in two-piece purple satin stands at the bar waiting for an espresso. It is served on a tray alongside every kind of sweetener in a covered dish. Another model, this one in a slim white jacket, boots and tousled long hair, comes in for a shoot in the adjacent pocket lobby. I feel stubby.
Splashlight Studios' street level restaurant is open only from noon until three for lunch, but the snack-topped bar looks like a most suitable spot for an afterwork drink, so who knows what the future will hold. Four wines by the glass, including a Grenache ($6.50), are listed on a blackboard above the full bar. The waiter suggests iced tea ($4) which sounds good to me and is refilled unobtrusively when the level is low. It's a fresh lemon-wegded unwishy-washy brew. A tasty dish of soft black beans, corn, red onions and scallions in a spicy sauce arrives.
The "small plates" here strive to prep the palate; they're neither abundant nor filling, but they pack plenty of punch. Sesame crawfish ($9) with wasabi marmalade (which sounds awful, but is wonderful) has a mess of delightfully crispy fried precious crawfish spilling over a sprinkling of black sesame seeds and topped with a bit of mache. Its sauce is a brilliant orange of strong smoky paprika which takes hold of the nostrils. The sweet-hot orange marmalade clears out what's left of your sinuses. Hello. There's some intriguing goings-on in the kitchen of this practically hidden, smallish, far west room. Hush puppies ($8) are not the dry compact sinkers we're accustomed to. Rather, they are expansive foamy and light fritters over soupçons of corn chutney and tomato relish to dip into.
Several salad selections include the appetizing-sounding "super chilled" wedge of iceberg with smoked bacon and tart buttermilk dressing ($7). My dining companion opts for a lobster salad ($15) with loads of mesclun, blanched almonds for crunch, slightly pungent shavings of manchego, and wet beautifully fleshy red grapefruit, in a dressing of grapefruit oil with purply pomegranate juice dribbled about the plate. This has perfectly chosen components and a generous apportioning of chunks of meaty lobster. The dressing is great on the greens, but a bit too thick and sweet for the plump, flavorful meat. Chefs in this town seem to think they can improve on good lobster, but when it comes to this crustacean, less is more. And you know what?that goes for high-quality oysters too. My salad choice is the raw yellowfin tuna with marinated mango and ginger-lime vinaigrette ($13). The tuna's been just-seared with ground pepper and a nutty seed coating, and the slices remain lusciously red within. Precisely cut tiles of sweet mango surround, and a tangle of cool vinegary spaghettied cucumber accompanies. At first glance I think the heap of delicately stemmy baby greens overwhelm the plate and won't be much more than dented, but the peppery greens with their tangy dressing are light and as fun to mindlessly munch on as a tub of popcorn. Chef Christopher Remaley is playful and focuses on layering and juxtaposing far-flung flavors, and he likes color too. There's nothing here that's not been thought out, and the ingredients are of high quality.
A variety of sandwiches round out the menu, like grilled chicken with thick-cut bacon, sun-dried tomatoes and garlic aioli ($12), or a burger on brioche with white cheddar, caramelized onions and fries ($15). Heartier options include poached halibut with pepper relish, spinach and lobster butter sauce ($18), and a hangar steak with asparagus and hash browns, in a red onion-Bourbon reduction ($16). There are also sides like sauteed spinach.
The American coffee ($2.50) is winey to my taste, but espresso drinks like macchiato ($2.50) and cafe mocha ($4) may serve as surrogates. For dessert, there's peach crisp with vanilla ice cream, and a trio of sorbets with melon consomme ($9). We select the vanilla custard ($7) which is triple-deckered and supported by sheets of tender phyllo. No pap, this custard; one bite imparts a vanilla pow, and upon inspection, the little black grains of dear vanilla bean innards are generously incorporated throughout. Thick pear sauce slicks the plate and is dotted by three ruby pools. A nose crinkles across the table, "That strawberry overwhelms it." "That's raspberry, and you hate raspberries." "Oh, yeah." You framboise-haters can pick around the red splotches. The fancy napoleon proves sumptuous enough to raise even height-challenged spirits.
On 8th, I see Mario Cantone chatting with a pal in Starbuck's window. On 9th, I study the menu in the window of Say Cheese. Soon after, I am ordering from sandwich man Alex at the counter. I'm not alone; I observe that, after looking at the menu, the peckish happening by can't seem to pass up the prospect of grilled cheese.
At the counter there's a quiz: What's your name? (to keep the orders straight). Have you been here before? (to judge how much help I'll need in ordering). I take a seat and wait for my sandwich and smoothie in welcome air-conditioning on a warm day. A belled cow greets all who enter. There's a brick wall above seagreen-washed wood and a blue tin ceiling. The wood floor is in need of a sweep, and my orange table could use a swipe. Chairs are not so comfy and in tex-mex shades of yellow, green and blue. Deep yellow inlaid lamps are neat, but the resultant lighting is somewhat dreary. The soundtrack is Joplin rasping, then it's the raspless Sade. Then it's my smoothie whirring away.
The Berrylicious ($4) tastes of fresh berries and bananas, thoroughly refreshing and foamy; creamy and cold. There's a chalky aftertaste, due I suppose, to soy protein powder, or some other ingredient that's good for you that I'm not accustomed to. Although low-fat, it's as thick as a shake and beats the heat. Next time I may try the Reese's Cup (peanut butter, low-fat milk or soy milk, chocolate and banana) or a Melon Drop that features cantaloupe. Someone is asking with a bit of desperation, "Do you have your tomato soup today?" Alex is not only the sandwich maker; as folks go up to his counter to order, it becomes clear he serves double duty as shrink, raconteur and neighborhood bud. My Big Cheese ($6) arrives. "Be careful, it's hot." It's served in a foil-covered basket, and a few incidental round corn chips sit on top. The smooth meld of muenster, provolone and swiss has gusto. Fresh red pepper strips and sweet red onion offer some crunch within the gooiness. The rustic bread is quite good, and the sandwich has been pressed, but not squooshed. A diner nearby is quizzed, "How is it?" With conviction, "It's great!"