Okay. I know it's shocking. How could I dislike the hottest new restaurant in New York? Well, I did. And, all of you will just have to deal with it. (Feel free to post in opposition below.)
Last night, I hooked up with chef-in-training pal Matt to check out the uber-hip foodie spot of the moment: Spice Market. With Jean-George Vongerichten teaming up "Wonder Twins" style with Gray Kunz, it seemed like a winner: white hot meatpacking district location, a magnificent interior that blends antiquities from Buddhist monasteries with lush fabrics and lighting that would make Quasimodo look good, not mention food that has been highly praised and applauded.
I fully admit that the place is jaw-dropping gorgeous. And, sitting at the bar munching on Wasabi-Covered Peanuts and Five-Spice Almonds while sipping a cocktail composed of passion fruit juice, blackberry liqueur and champagne, I had high-hopes for the evening.
After downing our drinks, we were seated a few minutes before our reservation. Very good.
The doe-eyed waitress approached and not being able answer questions about the wine list, sent over the sommelier who helped us with our wine selection. Very good again.
Then our server reapproached. Her eyes grew wide as she pointedly recited the party line about the menu, explaining that sharing was de riguer. When Matt immediately declared that we wanted to be left in the chef's hands, except for a couple of sundry picks, she seemed pleasantly delighted by our decision. All fine.
The appetizers arrived within a few minutes. With a honey-sweet smile, the waitressed gushed as she told us how to appropriately eat our dishes.
Two of the three were stand-outs. The plate of sauteed shrimp with eggplant and pineapple in a slightly spicy, sweet sauce was lovely. Then we grabbed our spoons and attacked the best dish of the evening: ruby strips of sashimi-grade tuna in a pool of coconut juice and kaffir lime, surrounded by a few hits of chili heat and gelantinous pearls of tapioca. The chicken samosas were bland in comparison.
After a couple of bites, the real showstopper arrived - or I should say, returned - our waitress. She wanted to know if everything was okay at the table. We immediately told her "yes." And then, she just stayed there. Really. I mean it. She was never more than 3 feet away from the table. She hovered like a helicopter over South Central, as we tried to enjoy our meal.
Needless to say, enjoying our meal was a challenge considering her constant questions about whether or not we were pleased with the food. For a server to check-in once or twice over the course of the meal is fine. Eight to ten times is excessive in anyone's book.
The entrees arrived and we realized that the food was going downhill - fast. The Chicken in Kumquat Sauce was dominated by the bird's black-scorched skin. The Halibut was completely zing-free, accompanied by a sad tangle of rice noodles and carrot. Ginger fried rice, which smelled divine, was a real letdown. Yes, there was ginger, but there was also a fried egg and a myriad of spices that ended up taking my palate all over the map - in a jet lag kind of way.
And, of course, the waitress was always close at hand. In fact, at one point she was even close at backside - writing up a check for one of her other customers, with her fanny only centimeters away from our table's edge. Matt and I had to put down our utensils and stare in disbelief.
Once she was done with her check-bearing duties, she immediately returned to our table. Why? To chat of course! She had "overheard" our conversation, and had to ask us if we were in the restaurant business. Matt mentioned that he worked at Picholine and tried to pry her away from the table with a promise of special treatment if she ever went to the restaurant. Seemingly satisfied, she walked away - for a moment.
Minutes later, when we were discussing the City of Brotherly love, she walked the full three-feet from her post to talk about places she'd eaten at in Philadelphia. We tried to be polite, while giving her the subtle hint that we wanted to dine as a twosome. But, subtlety most certainly didn't win the day.
At one point, Matt got up to go to the bathroom. She intercepted and insisted that she walk him there. As soon as he was whisked to the men's room door, she hightailed it back to gently refold his napkin. She gave me a beautific smile and before she left, basking in the glow of her own insanity, began to fondle Matt's chair.
Now, I'm sure many of you are thinking: "This Matt must be some sort of hotty!" I will say that he is certainly an attractive man (especially in Spice Market's kind, golden light), but he is no Smith Jarrod.
That said, when Matt returned, I let him know about the fondling incident and we realized that our waitress was simply the evening's entertainment.
Wanting to pull the focus back to things gustatory, I insisted that Matt order the Durian Ice Cream for dessert, since he had yet to try this delectable tropical fruit. The odor didn't disappoint. It smelled, as Matt so whimsically put it: like hazelnut infused horse manure. Mmm good!
Then that funfilled waitress returned with two other desserts. One involved a stick of a fudge-like substance doused with an Ovaltine cream. One rich bite and I needed no more. The bruleed rice pudding with hints of cardamom was a bit better, but it didn't set my taste buds aflutter.
We paid the check and our server seemed discernibly deflated to see us go.
As we left Spice Market to head to Florent for a less intrusive after-dinner spot, I couldn't help but turn my head to see if the waitress was following in fast pursuit, hoping to join us for a nightcap. I breathed a sigh of relief that she wasn't. We were safe.
Then again, she has Matt's full name from the credit card receipt and knows where he works...He seriously may want to consider carrying his chef's knives with him at all time.
Dear God...
Posted by: Hon | March 22, 2004 at 07:51 PM
That would be more funny if'n you din't have to pay.
Thanks for the giggles anyway.
Posted by: Dr. Biggles | March 22, 2004 at 09:12 PM
All i have to say is I was only trying to do my job. I was most definitely NOT hitting on you or your friend, believe me. If you want to discuss this further send me an email.
Posted by: Your Waitress | March 23, 2004 at 01:54 AM
I am too better looking than Smith Jarrod. I mean, look at him: what do you think he's hiding behind that small bottle of vodka? For my photo shoots, I have to pose with a jerobome of 66 Chateau Palmer! And what kind of a dumb, backwards-ass name is that, anyways?
Posted by: Matt Kantor | March 23, 2004 at 03:12 AM
Trust me, I've eaten with Matt at many a restaurant and when he throws done his "why don't you choose for me" (with that certain twinkle in his eye) when ordering, all the waitresses swoon.
Posted by: Martin | March 23, 2004 at 12:39 PM
She was definitely hitting on you, Matt.
Posted by: copyboy | March 23, 2004 at 10:45 PM
Ok, so I've heard this story twice now (here, and from Matt with whom I work Garde Manger at Picholine). I have also heard from other people in the know that the food at Spice Market, while interesting, is only O.K., and that the decor and waitresses with backless shirts steal the show. Why then, does Amanda Hesser, give Spice Market 3 stars? I have never once agreed with Hesser on anything. Not to mention I think she entirey forgot to credit Gray Kunz in her review. She is by far the most over-rated and absurdly prominent food-writer of our time. But what is she thinking? One week after demoting Montrachet to 2 stars, she swoons that Spice Market is the best thing since sliced bread. She reminds me of E. Toohey from Ayn Rand's _The Fountainhead_, a self-important critic who promotes mediocrity into pop-stardom BECAUSE mediocrity is repeatable, replacable, familiar, and comforting. Perhaps more important to Toohey is the power trip experienced by convincing the masses that average is great. I hope Hesser is not playing games. Alternatively, I hope she comes to realize that novelty does not equate to greatness, and tradition is not just old habit.
Meanwhile, I can't wait to try Spice Market for myself... If only for the attention of a doe-eyed, backless shirt wearing waitress...
-Shrimp'n'grits
Posted by: Shrimp'n'grits | March 25, 2004 at 01:59 PM
The review was hilarious. Three stars for spring rolles and other "street food" is *interesting*
Posted by: Jon Shore | March 25, 2004 at 10:26 PM