In 2008 Motorino opened in Williamsburg to instant raves. Less than two years later it rode its success train to the East Village. (Trend?) The raves continue. Reviewers are obsessed. Yelpers are fanatical. Many claim Motorino’s chef, Mathieu Palombino, is making the best pizza in NYC. As it turns out, I’m an outlier on this one, though I have been known to buck a trend or two.

The restaurant space is adequate, if not cozy with pizza joint personality. The service was solid. We went before the 8pm crush and didn’t have to wait for a table. There wasn’t an incident or issue to cloud our Motorino experience. The pizza simply needed to impress. Instead, the pies fell limp.

The three pies we ordered – the Brussels Sprout and Pancetta, the Cremini and Sweet Sausage, and the Clam special – all had similar troubles. Despite admirable ingredients in potentially winning combinations, every bite tasted singular.

The pancetta overpowered the brussels sprouts, relegating the bright green leaves to mere decoration. The pecorino cheese had its way with the creminis and sausage. The measly clam-to-pizza ratio meant most bites held only the promise of clams, in the form of salty clam juice. The toppings were unchecked, unbalanced, and sprinkled with a light hand, as if the plan all along was for them to cling to the dough’s coattails. Palombino’s dough is good, but not good enough for riding.

The crust is too thick and too naked. The cheese, sauce, and toppings are forced to tread in the pie’s center, instead of being allowed to grab hold of the edge. The result is a soggy and droopy pizza center and a crust that doubles as a bread stick.

A survey of the room showed that most diners had abandoned their crusts once the toppings were eaten. The only exception was a couple who had smartly ordered a bowl of marinara sauce for dipping. I wasn’t kidding about the whole bread stick thing.

The pizzas are far from bad, but they’re also far from the best. Rest easy, Jim Lahey, I’m still happiest in your Co.

JoeDoe is a seemingly small restaurant for Dobias’s big personality, but then again, JoeDoe’s open-air kitchen is seemingly tiny for the grand inspiration it churns out. Joe Dobias’ appeal is that he’s committed to high-quality, locally-sourced ingredients and inventiveness. Long gone are the days where an organic chicken with a crispy skin can make me swoon. Joe elevates the potentially mundane – his beet appetizer the perfect example. A mound of beets were spiced, pickled, and piled on quark cheese and hazelnuts. Beets are the old ramps, but Dobias manages to invigorate a somewhat tired ingredient with new found energy.

There were some other big hits at JoeDoe. A basket of fried chick peas in lieu of bread. Jalapeno Braised Rabbit with a slab of fried dough and a jalapeno salsa that was a dynamite dish in every way and like nothing I’ve had before. Grass fed Hanger Steak was tender, flavorful and nicely paired with a Tex-Mex homage of avocado and rice and beans. For dessert, the Wildflower Honey Custard with Turkish flatbread bordered on ethereal.

JoeDoe’s misfires show more gumption than potential, starting with his much touted Prepared Beer concoctions. A Gin Cured Scallop, one of the menu’s few attempts at delicacy, also missed the mark. As for the Braised Mussels, if anyone could pull off mussels topped with ground pork, I thought it would be Dobias. Apparently, no one can. The dish was haphazard at best. I keep wondering if the toasted Challah that accompanied the shellfish and pig was Dobias’s attempt at irony. Maybe this passionate chef has a sense of humor? Let’s hope so.

It was hard to resist one of my favorite bread indulgences, the Cranberry-Pecan Round ($6.50) which turned out to be softer than expected on the inside, with just the right amount of exterior crunch and cranberry tartness. It is a definite contender for Balthazar’s Cranberry-Walnut Round ($8) which is a tad denser and sweeter.

Tip Alert: If you come by in the evening and they’re not sold out, you’ll be able to purchase half loaves. They’re open from 8am-7pm Monday-Saturday. Sometime soon Pain D’Avignon plans to sell sandwiches and coffee as well.

Faustina is located in the Cooper Square Hotel.

Enter The Meatball Shop – a new EV eatery with a menu dedicated to yes, you guessed it, meatballs. It’s been open less than a week, but it’s already packed. Last night we managed to squeeze ourselves into one of the communal tables with just enough table space between us to sample every type of ball the The Meatball Shop offers.

The balls: beef, spicy pork, chicken, salmon, veggie, and the daily special. The sauces: parmesan, mushroom gravy, tomato, and spicy meat. You order your balls in slider form (above) or in a bowl. If you’re looking for a sampler, the slider route is the only way to go.

While it was fun to try them all (yes, even the meatless balls of salmon and veggie) I can save you the trouble. It’s all about the chicken which is insanely moist and flavorful. Italian grandmothers everywhere will be asking for the recipe (if they can be heard over the excruciatingly noise level). The side dishes – which can also be served under your slider-less meatballs – were surprisingly tasty. The white beans with bread crumb topping were cassoulet-esque while the creamed spinach (a daily special) will make wolfing down your greens easy (and your aforementioned grandmother very, very happy).

The Meatball Shop also has a build-your-own ice cream sandwich dessert menu. Get the walnut meringue cookie with vanilla ice cream. Don’t ask. Just listen. You’re welcome.

It’s been three months since I dined at a restaurant in its opening week. My last such experience was at Trigo, where I thought there was a chance at longevity. Even though it only took two months for Trigo to secure a spot in the NYC restaurant graveyard, that won’t stop me from making a prediction about Table 8: it’s here to stay.

With outposts in both Los Angeles and Miami, Govind Armstrong, Table 8’s chef and proprietor, has a successful track record. For his NYC debut, Armstrong has found a home in the already-hip Cooper Square Hotel. The pairing appears prosperous.

We definitely experienced a handful of kinks and miscues, but nothing that won’t get ironed out as Table 8 finds its’ footing. But as opposed to other newbie restaurants, whether or not they’re ever corrected probably won’t alter Table 8’s fate. It’s just one of those places. A place to see and be seen. A place where people will be drawn to eat, regardless of the food. A place where success is in the cards.

The music was so loud, yelling across the table was required. The restaurant was so dark, we passed around our single votive like a torch, so we could actually see how each dish had been plated. Women bore cleavage and stilettos. Men sported gel-infused coifs and shirts with one too many buttons undone. If I hadn’t just walked off the Bowery, I would have sworn I was in Miami, or maybe Los Angeles. Go figure.

Armstrong’s menu is varied and well thought out. He demonstrates cooking ingenuity and prowess. But the atmosphere prevents diners from appreciating these accomplishments, and from what I observed, the patrons are looking for more scene than food. With a couple Table 8s already under his belt, I assume this is the atmosphere Armstrong desired.

Armstrong’s menu features a Salt Bar (think amuse bouche-size bites), a flat bread, Starters, Entrees, and Small Accents (aka sides). We sampled Venison and Fluke from the Salt Bar. Both were flavorful and pleasing. For $4, there were no complaints about the generous portion of flatbread.

While there was nothing extraordinary about our Scallop and Quail starters, both were prepared expertly and both were very, very good.

Armstrong’s culinary capabilities were most evident in the Halibut entrée. Though its description is over-simplified on the menu, the halibut arrives two ways – smoked on a buttered and crispy baguette and as a small filet. The dish was delightful.

The Bone-in Skate, served in a spicy saffron broth with cockles, was also different than any skate preparation I’ve previously had. The broth was more salty than spicy, but once you mastered eating the skate without getting a mouthful of bones, the reward was luscious fish.

The Grilled Baby Chicken was the night’s only disappointment. It was grilled until rubbery, all its succulence depleted. The accompanying Short Rib Hash, however, should get the opportunity to be its own entrée.

If you can bear to stay for the final course, reward yourself with the Coffee Parfait.

While the scene at Table 8 is far from my preferred dining experience, and I’m not compelled to return, I have little doubt that there are countless others to take my place.

Table 8

www.thecoopersquarehotel.com

25 Cooper Square

New York, NY 10003

(212) 475-3400

Scott Bryan got my attention when he was at Veritas. I wasn’t alone. Since his departure, many of us have been watching; waiting for his next project. There have been rumors and false speculation. Patience has been a requirement.

When it was announced that Bryan would take over the kitchen at Apiary I was elated and again, I wasn’t alone. It has been crowded with Bryan-followers. Compared to the lukewarm reception of his Apiary predecessor, his East Village welcome has sizzled.

The restaurant, designed by Ligne Roset, is modern and somewhat forgettable. I’ll admit that the lights that cast shadows of chandelier silhouettes onto the walls were cool. Very cool.

The odd Apiary moniker is contained to a handful of bee illustrations on the menu. They appear to fly around the dish descriptions, as if telling you the food is irresistible. I get the impression that Bryan is a straight forward, no nonsense kind of guy. The cutesy bees, dancing around his food, have definitely got to sting.

Apiary aptly describes the frenetic noise level. Even when not filled to capacity, the restaurant is buzzing. The clamoring atmosphere disconnects diners from Bryan’s refined cooking; the din is too intense for the subtle food. The somewhat unpolished service was another distraction. Our server was kind, but nervous and unsure of herself. We waited an eternity for our entrees.

At Apiary, Scott Bryan is doing what Scott Bryan does best – New American with a hint of French. His focus on quality ingredients is unfaltering. His dishes are skillfully prepared.

Bits of silky avocado accompanied melt-in-your-mouth Hamachi. The dish had the perfect bite of acidity, a feat that Bryan prides himself on.

Flawlessly balanced Tuscan White Bean Soup was another example of Bryan’s ability. It was somehow delicate, complex, hearty, and elegant.

The not-so Crispy Sweetbreads were the night’s biggest disappointment. Devoid of punch, the romesco was too tame a foil. Nothing in the dish popped. Apparently Bryan is human.

The entrees were vintage Bryan. The Chatham Cod, with bouillabaisse broth, chickpeas and a piquant rouille was only out done when compared to the Skate, with a golden brown crust and duo of bacon and razor clams. Both were cooked to moist and flaky perfection.

Both duck preparations, the breast and the leg confit, were again, cooked with aptitude. The breast was reminiscent of the best-duck-ever at Gramercy Tavern. An overpowering parsnip puree could have been better appointed.

Between the noise and the service, it was hard to give Bryan’s talent and expertly prepared dishes the appreciation they deserve. Maybe I’ll forever be hoping for those long-ago dinners at Veritas, where the food, service, and atmosphere congealed into a heavenly trifecta. But maybe my version of Bryan-style dining isn’t his. Even if he doesn’t like the bees, it’s possible Bryan likes the buzz. We’ll see if the swarm continues to hover around his Apiary.

Apiary

www.apiarynyc.com/a>

60 Third Avenue

New York, NY 10003

(212) 254-0888

Mara’s Homemade, a family-run Creole restaurant in the East Village, radiates Southern hospitality; it’s congenial and relaxed. Mara is the owner, head chef, and chief marketer. She weaves her way through the small dining rooms, chatting with patrons, urging them to drink more, to order an extra dessert, and to join her mailing list.

I’ll listen to any sales pitch for a slice of her sumptuous Crawfish Cheesecake; a savory concoction with a breadcrumb crust and a filling of crawfish tails, andouille sausage, and cheese.

In addition to Cajun cuisine, the menu also contains a full page of Arkansas BBQ. The geography is odd, but so it Mara’s. She discovered her love for New Orleans cuisine via weekend trips from Dallas. At some point she lived in LA. If she has ever set foot in Arkansas I didn’t hear about it; I was happily eating my Crawfish Cheesecake.

Our minds were swimming with various Catfish and Crawfish dishes from the overwhelming menu when our chatty server (Mara’s daughter, of course) started telling us about the specials. It was as though she was throwing us a line, saving us from drowning in difficult decisions.

The Shrimp Special, described by Mara’s daughter as fantastic, was also described as an ideal sharing platter. We got reeled in. The shrimp were mealy, difficult to peel, and dressed in sauces not worth detailing.

Gator bites (popcorn shrimp for the self-proclaimed adventurist), were eagerly consumed. But, what isn’t compelling about cornmeal breaded, fried, nuggets dunked in Remoulade sauce? The fried okra, similarly battered and crisped, confirmed the hypothesis: these dishes had little to do with Mara and much to do about the fryer.

Coaster-sized Louisiana oysters on the half-shell were plump, but mild. The Oysters Rockefeller, spiked with Anisette liquor, had an odd sweetness.

A special Artichoke and Oyster Soup piqued our curiosity and satisfied our taste buds. Mara gets credit for the ingenuity.

While the Creole Catfish was generously dusted with Cajun seasoning, the preparation felt sloppy and lackluster.

The Berry Cobbler, Key Lime pie, and Bread Pudding all slightly misshapen, were the epitome of homemade. Every last bite of their deliciousness was devoured.

The four of us left full and jolly. It was only later that I realized the meal was more fun than the food was good. But, there’s no doubt my stomach will urge my return for some of Mara’s Cajun treats. As for my heart, it might just urge me back for a little bit of Mara herself.

Mara’s Homemade

http://www.marashomemade.com

342 East 6th Street

New York, NY 10003

212.598.1110

Metal latticework covers the tiny storefront of Momofuku Ko and if you’re not one of the lucky few with a reservation at David Chang’s newest restaurant, you probably wouldn’t even notice the peach etched into the glass door. This is probably just what David Chang, the man behind the ever-popular Momofuku Ssam and Momofuku Noodle Bar, intended.

A sand-colored wooden bar and fourteen stools fill the minimalist long and narrow space. If you’ve managed to score a reservation (more on that in a minute) you’ll be in the hands of Chef Peter Serpico for the next eight courses. There is no menu. There are no choices. (The staff does, however, kindly ask if you have any food allergies or aversions.) Not having to peruse a menu or make decisions about one’s order was refreshing and eating at the whims of Chang and Serpico is a culinary treat. Sit back, watch, and enjoy.

The small wine list consists of high-end and safe brands (think Kistler and Patz & Hall), but there is no reason to look past the wine flight. Six pairings, from champagne to sake to asti, with some lovely wines mixed in between, is the icing on the cake.

Getting into Momofuku Ko makes securing a table at Per Se seem like child’s play. There are no phones. There are no month-out reservations so you can plan ahead for that special occasion. There are no tables selling on TableXchange. All reservations are granted by the Momofuku Ko Reservation website. Every morning at 10am reservations are released for the corresponding day in the following week. You have to give a credit card to log into the website and the website threatens that you’ll be asked for ID when you arrive. Since Momofuku Ko’s opening, one night’s worth of reservations have been disappearing in under one minute. Yes, we’re talking seconds, so start exercising that trigger finger. Assuming someone would cancel a reservation I had taken to checking the website at random times. Lo and behold, one night at 11pm my efforts were rewarded. Plans were re-arranged and calendars were cleared for the this-may-be-a-once-in-a-lifetime-occasion.

Portions were sizable for an eight-course meal, but dishes are not starch-laden, there is no breadbasket flanked by multiple types of butter, and no ovation of petit fours arrives with your check. You somehow walk out of Momofuku Ko without tugging at the waistband of your pants.

Admittedly, I was disappointed by the calm demeanor of the chefs on the other side of the bar. They are just a few feet away in the open kitchen, preparing and plating multiple dishes. I had grand illusions of a Benihana-meets-Iron Chef atmosphere, but there were no theatrics aside from a few beads of sweat and Serpico’s occasional order to “Fire!”

Dinner for two had an added advantage. My husband and I were not always served the same dish, allowing us to taste even more of Chang’s creations. (My husband did comment that when your dish was better, sharing it no longer seemed like an advantage.)

An Amuse Bouche of homemade pork rinds was followed by English muffins grilled with pork fat and fresh basil leaves. Both were tasty, but neither came close to representing the depth of Chang’s abilities and what we were about to consume over the next handful of courses. I likened it to “limping in” at the poker table.

Fresh pieces of crab was buried under a pile of vibrantly green, shaved avocado. Though beautiful to look at, it was the punch of horseradish that brought the dish to life. A buttermilk, sriracha, white soy and poppy seed dressing gussied up thin slices of fluke. By the end of the course we were dipping pieces of crab from the other dish into the creamy and spicy dressing. If they sold bottles by the door, I would have bought two.

Pea Soup with cannelloni of vegetables ruined me for any future pea soup I may try. It was, hands down, the best pea soup I’ve ever had. It was gorgeous in color and both sweet and deep in flavor. (It was only at this juncture I longed for a piece of bread to swath out the green remains from the bowl.) An intriguing combination of oysters, cabbage and Berkshire pork all bathed in consommé, was delicate, but didn’t meld. The oysters immersed in warm broth were the highlight – a new and delicious way to eat the normally cold shellfish.

A dish of scallop, manila clams, and striped bass was our least favorite. The scallop, browned on its top, but just cooked through its middle was the standout.

If you’ve read anything about Momofuku Ko, you’ve read about these next two dishes. First up, a generous heaping of caviar is spooned over a smoked egg. A sweet and salty puddle of onion soubise and a handful of mini potato chips finish off the dish. Although we found the combination salty, one cannot deny the thought, execution, and presentation that goes into such a culinary construct.

The triumph of the night, a reason in itself to try and secure a reservation and shell out $85 for the menu, was the shaved foie gras atop Riesling gelee, lychees, and pine nut brittle. The clay-colored foie gras is frozen, allowing it to be grated over the sweet and crunchy compote. Once a spoonful of foie gras hits your mouth the shavings instantly melt on your tongue. Perfect balance. Perfect texture. It doesn’t get much better than this.

I applaud Chang for the ingenuity of the deep fried short rib; it was like no short rib I’ve had before. We’re accustomed to short ribs whose fat has been rendered by braising and slow-cooking; a process that causes the entire piece of meat to tenderize. By dropping the meat into the fryer, a dark and crispy exterior layer forms around the meat, but the interior tenderness is not compromised. Pickled carrots provided acidity while the accompanying daikon topped with mustard seed was amazing enough to have been its own dish.

A scoop of Pineapple sorbet served atop dried pineapple pieces was the palate cleanser before the deep fried apple pie concluded our meal. The pie had an ideal crust to filling ratio; there wasn’t a single bite that tasted too doughy or sweet. Though the sour ice cream and toasted miso sounded like masterful accompaniments, the sour ice cream could not tame the incredibly salty miso. We happily ate the apple pie on its own.

Chang pushes the limits without making you uncomfortable. He produces original dishes that keep us buzzing, but never questioning.

Momofuku Ko

www.momofuku.com

163 1st Avenue

New York, NY 10003

No Phone

On a Tuesday night The Smith was packed with a lively crowd. If they were in search of reasonably priced drinks and comfort food, they did not leave disappointed.

The Third Avenue space used to be a Pizzeria Uno and the ghosts of deep dish linger over the low lighting, dark booths, and high-octane noise level. With its white-tiled walls, vintage-type photos, co-ed bathroom, and photo booth, The Smith is the quirky and upscale cousin of a college hangout. It is not the place to take your parents for an evening out.

The Smith secures the success of its comfort food and drink with digestible prices. Starters are under $10 and Main Courses are under $20. Whimsical cocktails did not exceed $9 and Draft Beers were $5. House wines, offered by the Glass, Carafe, and Big Carafe, were priced for consumption.

Service was friendly and timely, though our young female server did often look like a deer in headlights, prompting someone at our table to remark, “I think she is scared of us”. It was a definite possibility.

Tuna Tartare was out of place in a Starter section where almost every other option had cheese, bacon, or promised to emerge from a fryer. Tossed with jalapeno and topped with cucumber slaw, the tuna was well-prepared and of good quality. The dish’s measly size was its only downfall. I can only assume the reason being to keep its price in line with the other starters.

On the other hand, we were unable to fully consume the heaping mound of Fried Calamari. Prepared “Brooklyn Style,” the calamari was not tender nor was its batter particularly tasty. (I can only assume these are not “Brooklyn Style” qualities; whatever that may mean). While the fried rings weren’t greasy, they lacked the crispy coating we expected. The surprisingly robust marinara sauce, however, deserved kudos.

Though the Mac + Cheese arrived in its own cast iron pot, it was devoid of the requisite brown and bubbly top that normally accompanies any food prepared in such a vessel. The macaroni, cooked al dente, did have a good consistency but the dish itself was in desperate need of salt.

Keeping in line with the high fat, comfort food theme, I gave in to temptation and ordered the Beer Battered String Beans. I was so glad that I did; the beans put the calamari to shame.

Everything about the Pot of Mussels was tremendous. The meaty mussels were some of the biggest ones I’d ever seen and the sheer number of them was astounding. The Chardonnay broth infused the mussels with just the right amount of seasoning, but logistics got in the way of ultimate success. Because the pot was so tall, it was near-impossible to get to the liquid at the bottom. Sadly, just as I was getting full, the elusive broth became accessible. The accompany fries were the crispy, skinny ones that you can’t help but stuff into your mouth by the handful.

The Smith’s meat-free version of the Korean rice dish, Vegetable “Bibimbap,” was solidly prepared with a sunny-side up egg and vegetables, but was fairly bland. How it found its way to the menu, wedged between the Sausage and Pork Chop, is unclear.

One of the evening’s specials, a “gently” Braised Lamb Shank might be an indication of the kitchen’s abilities and potential. Tender meat adhered to the bone but fell away obediently the minute your fork pulled at it. A deep braising sauce, ladled with restraint, allowed the meat to stand on its own.

The Smith’s Burger Deluxe has its own section on the menu. It deserves it. Bacon, cheese, and special sauce graced a hearty meat patty cooked a perfect medium rare. It was juicy and flavorful.

The desserts, an assortment of flavor-themed ice cream Sundaes (think strawberry and peanut butter) concluded our meal on a somewhat lackluster note. But looking around the room filled with smiling and energetic co-eds, I’d venture to say our sentiments were not shared.

The Smith

www.thesmithnyc.com

55 Third Avenue

New York, NY 10003

(212) 420-9800