Tasting Room--Manhattan

212.358.7831

Okay, so who am I to write a review about a restaurant like this? I have mild aspirations to become a foodie, and loving criticizing what I think is wrong with less serious restaurants. I’m more of a restaurant bully, knowing that it takes very little to knock a server off kilter by making demands outside of the normal way they do things. It’s easy, in a way, to look at a place and pick out it’s flaws by gazing through the lens of what I would do with the place if it were mine. The Tasting Room, on the other hand, is in a league above what I know to be proper or right. I write to you now a humbled dilettante.

The dining room is simple and quaint, and though the bar is centered in such a way that you have to walk by it to get to your table it isn’t cumbersome. Immediately after sitting down you are attended to. Though I belabor this in all of my restaurant writings, nothing compliments good food better than good service and this seems to be a cornerstone of Tasting Room, and though the dining is not formal, the service does not take casual dining casually. To give you a visual of what I am talking about, take the appearance of the waiter. He had a beard and ponytail, two things frowned upon in the world of formal service, yet his knowledge of the food, wine, and the respect with which he held himself told me he took the job seriously. The timing of the meal was impeccable and our water glass was never left empty.

We started with the pumpkin salad, the crab and lobster consommé’ and pork and hen terrine. All of them were utterly delicious, the pumpkin salad in particular. Once our first courses were finished, they did the service of clearing and replacing our silver, even if we hadn’t used it. Again, a seemingly “formal” service aspect, though I think it really makes a difference. Why would anyone want to use the same fork and knife over and over? You put it on your table and then there’s olive oil on the table, and then that olive oil gets on your French cuff and then you’re pissed off the rest of the night as everyone in your party tries homeopathic remedies to remove oil. The next thing you know you’ve got salt and soda water and hairspray on your wrist and you’re miserable for the rest of the night because some Ecuadorian bus boy couldn’t be bothered to replace your salad fork and knife. Fuck a bitch if I haven’t had this exact thing happen to me three different times.

For the entrée I had the Pork rib, while my companions both tried fish: Bass and Skate. The sides were again perfectly complimentary, from the carrots to the French leaks, and though the portions were exactly hearty, we were quite full by the end of the meal. The server again sensed us about to finish and came and offered dessert right away instead of coming by on afterthought. It was though he considered dessert to be part of the meal. We all split the Apple Short cake, again divine, polished off some excellent dessert wine, Torbeck if I’m not mistaken, and went our merry way. The night was excellent; the food was excellent, the service, finally—thank God almighty-- was excellent.