Faux doesn’t have a sign, but it’s still hard to miss.
Illustration: Naomi Otsu
Welcome to Grub Street’s rundown of restaurant recommendations that aims to answer the endlessly recurring question: Where should we go? These are the spots that our food team thinks everyone should visit, for any reason (a new chef, the arrival of an exciting dish, or maybe there’s an opening that’s flown too far under the radar). This month: biscuits in Williamsburg, a burger in Tribeca, crowd-pleasers from Andrew Carmellini, and more.
The Astor (Nolita)
The Astor, which occupies a wide swath of space on the mezzanine level of the Public Theater, is less a new arrival than it is a reimagining of the theater’s previous restaurant, the Library. It feels markedly different, however: Walls are crammed with decades of memorabilia from The Public’s history, and a large-scale mural, depicting more than 30 prominent caricatured New Yorkers, peers down from behind the bar. Andrew Carmellini is still the guiding culinary hand for the menu, which leans heavily and predictably New York-y. A wide puck of Caesar salad, crowned lightly with “snowy cheese” and a whole plump anchovy, doesn’t break ground, but also doesn’t need to. A roasted half chicken is amplified by a garlicky and peppery (bullhorn, that is) “showbiz” sauce, which you’ll want to sop up with whatever’s left over from the complimentary bread starter. And I’d be remiss not to mention a sizzling dish of pumpkin and cheese macaroni, rich and slightly earthy with a salty scattering of whole frizzled sage leaves. Get to dessert, and the strawberry split reads like a nostalgic nod to ice-cream truck shortcakes. —Shay Cohen
Hommali (West Village)
The ivy-covered, two-story building at 28 Seventh Avenue had been languishing as a private events space. Thankfully, it is now this stunning Thai restaurant from Eleven Madison Park vets chef Chattchakorn “Benz” Khajornchaisan, Kritayanee “Air” Promsarin, and Pichalak “Picha” Srigungvarl. The leafy, wood-paneled, terracotta-tiled interiors genuinely took my breath away when I walked in, and the seafood-heavy menu earns its theatrics. A cocktail served in a giant shell is more like a ceviche in tangy tom yum sauce. There are too many uninventive dips in this city, but the tao jiew lon bucks the trend: light tempura, with an all-too-rare fried baby corn in the mix, ready to be plunked into a creamy coconut sauce. Fried rice is as dramatic as the dining room, with an enormous river prawn split open alongside scallops and squid on a bed of jasmine rice. When I went, they were out of the usual sauce and gave us a green-chile citrus mixture instead, which deserves a permanent spot on the menu. The cocktails are named simply, and the “Tomato” tasted like a cross between Martinelli’s apple juice and a bloody mary, with a tableside application of chile-oil tincture that lets you choose how far to push it toward becoming the latter. —Zach Schiffman
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Sono (East Village)
In the shuffle of constant openings, it’s easy to lose track of both new restaurants and their occasionally high concepts. I fear this fate could befall Sono, a Korean-Italian trattoria (see?) that opened this summer in a deep-set space on First Avenue in the East Village. Nudged out of the spotlight by similarly-timed, similarly-themed, even similarly-named places (more of the attention went to the Korean-ish trattoria-ish Somssi), Sono hasn’t gotten its fair shake. Consider this an admission of guilt. I dined there back in June, when chef Sechul Yang — an alum of Gramercy Tavern, Oiji Mi, and Maialino — seemed to still be getting his sea legs. Spaghetti with both bottarga and myeongnan (essentially, a Korean bottarga) was an interesting marriage of eastern and western salt, though a bit soupy; scallop crudo cured in spruce tips with kimchee gelée and “Baby Yoda” green cherry tomatoes was sweet but a little mild. (“Baby Yoda” tomatoes: A real thing, it turns out.) But there was enough promise to the concept and enough bites I found not only intriguing, but Fall-ishly intriguing (manzo tonnato, done carpaccio-style; slow-roasted lamb shoulder alla Romana) that I’ll be back. Sometimes restaurants are just waiting to find their season. —Matthew Schneier
Faux (Tribeca)
George McNally swears his famous father didn’t help build this new restaurant, but dad’s influence is all over the place: the perfect lighting, the (welcoming) bouncer out front, a menu that pulls liberally from New York’s brasseries, trattorias, and diners. The burger — dry-aged, with the unexpected bite of peppers from the sauce Algérienne — is better than I thought it to be. So was the rest of the food, like a deeply enjoyable appetizer of ratatouille and a profiterole that had been freshly assembled to ensure the choux pastry didn’t go soggy before it got to the table. The lights get dimmer as the night wears on, the soundtrack of Dire Straits and Strokes-back-when-they-were-still-good gets louder, and the crowd around the bar, where George himself was shaking drinks the night I stopped in, grows to be two or three people deep. It’s a proper downtown party, just as it should be. —Alan Sytsma
Ferguson’s Country (Williamsburg)
The food at Ferguson’s Country — Ferg’s, as it’s known — leans heavy: Start with a tower of small craggy biscuits with honey compound butter, pimiento cheese, or Front Porch Fritto. The latter is a highlight, a small tray piled with fried okra, green tomatoes, plump shrimp, and — crucially — lemon slices, all perfectly salty and shatteringly crisp. You can get a bigger version of those biscuits as a carrier for a fried chicken sandwich with pickles, another item done well (they know how to fry). Platters include classics like spare ribs and country-fried steak that come with a choice of a side — also classics like collard greens and buttery grits. Beyond the few wine and beer options, the drinks aren’t fooling around. There are cocktails like a corn martini and Lowcountry iced tea that features vodka, bourbon, gin, and rum, plus a dedicated moonshine menu. The dining room, painted a warm red with exposed brick and wood-planked walls, is casual and unpretentious; it feels a bit worn-in despite the fact that it just opened. —Emma Wartzman
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