Fake Shack
NORMALLY I WELCOME new casual dining to the city. The openings of both Roll 'N Roaster in the East Village and Danny Meyer's Shake Shack nearly made my summer. But the new addition of Chelsea's Bongo Fry Shack has forced me to bridle my enthusiasm when it comes to revamped greasy American.
When a restaurant transplants classic New England beach fare into Manhattan, it is, of course, contrived. The venue falls under the rubric of either "tribute" or "ironic" cuisine; which of the two monikers it ends up with depends on how well (or reverentially) the food is executed. With its fry-everything-that-swims menu that could have been snagged from a Cape Cod sandwich board, Bongo Fry Shack tries the tribute route, but is ultimately more perversion than pure. In true New York fashion, Bongo Fry Shack brings a very humble food to the city with few or no improvements, then marks it up substantially.
Bongo Fry Shack makes me think of several more successful variations on the informal American summer-dining theme that we've seen in the last couple of years. The Mermaid Inn in the East Village, which serves an upscale version of New England fisherman's cuisine, while slightly heavy-handed with its Maine lodge décor, pulled off its refinement with know-how and panache. The very good lobster roll replaces the toasted hot dog bun with a buttered brioche. Some might call that sacrilege, but I call it tasty. I also remember swift, courteous service, a cohesive style and an overall air of professionalism. In the end, the elevated atmosphere and cuisine justified the extra expense.
Then there was Shake Shack, the outdoor burger joint in Madison Square Park, which follows even closer the summertime model of recreational snacking. You order at the counter, wait for your name to be called, retrieve the food and eat it at a table outside. While Shake Shack, which peddles mostly burgers, dogs and frozen custard, charges more than, say, White Castle, their fast food is that much better. You can still snag an excellent double cheeseburger, fries and a drink for under $10.
Bongo Fry Shack is a strange hybrid of the two. It charges as much, if not more per person than Mermaid Inn, but, like Shake Shack, is a self-service, counter-ordering venue where all food is presented, ungarnished, on disposable dishware. Located on the fringes of Chelsea, almost directly across the street from one of my favorite restaurants, Grand Sichuan International, Bongo Fry Shack is an outwardly inconspicuous space. A few strings of electric lights and a glass storefront announce its presence on a block of greasy eateries and commercial bakeries.
Bongo Fry Shack, the second of a series of Bongo hangouts-the first, a 50s-style lounge and oyster bar, is about a block away on 10th Ave.-was inspired specifically by Kelly's of Revere Beach (that's "Reveyah" for any self-respecting Bostonian) in Massachusetts. Much like Roll 'N Roaster in Sheepshead Bay, Kelly's is a waterfront relic best known for its roast beef sandwiches. Its menu items and service (Kelly's employs the takeaway method) are reflected in Bongo Fry Shack, but Bongo's interior is more theme park than New England. Nets, paddles and lifesavers hang from the ceiling, and a "driftwood" fence is set up along one wall. The colors-coral, turquoise, yellow-speak more of Jamaica than of the New England that I grew up in. Low, narrow picnic tables in these flashy tones are what pass for seating, and watching a bunch of grownups squeeze into nursery-school furniture is nothing short of comical. "I feel like I'm on one of the SpongeBob SquarePants adventures," said one friend. Aye, aye-I don't blame him.
I've never been to Kelly's, but I'm certain that its patrons would look aghast at the prices these crazy New Yorkers are charging for fried fish. While only two items on Kelly's menu exceed $14.95, the average price for a dish at Bongo is $15. After having placed my table's order, I observed two women at the counter in the process of settling their bill. "It's going to be $52.52," said the cashier. "How much?" asked one woman. "$52.52." The woman shot her friend an unmistakably panicked look. I just sighed and stared longingly at Grand Sichuan across the street, where you can eat to your heart's delight for less than $20 per person.
Our monochromatic food came to the table on simple plastic trays, which more or less matched our disappointing lobster roll ($20.95) in blandness. Serving flourishes did not exceed the ripples of homemade potato chips that crowded each plate, and coleslaw, which in its sanitary closed-plastic container, recalled the cup they ask you to fill at the doctor's office.
The best that Bongo Fry Shack had to offer were its fried shrimp ($10.95/small), abundantly large, meaty specimens, and the clam roll ($16.95), whole-belly Ipswich fried clams stuffed into a grilled buttered bun. Both were highly enjoyably-deep-fried in the same seasoned batter and practically greaseless. Bongo also has a pretty tasty special sauce, much like the Evil Clown's, which can make anything taste good. With the exception, perhaps, of the fish and chips ($14.95), batter-fried fillet of Boston scrod, a fish that is supposed to be young and tender but was tough and on the whole unpleasant.
Two more Massachusetts dishes-the baked stuffed quahog ($4.95) and Boston baked beans ($4.95)-met with varying results. My friends and I couldn't get enough of the tangy, smoky beans, whereas the quahog, a large bivalve stuffed with bread crumbs, red peppers and seasonings was all but irrelevant (and, not to mention, overpriced). From the broiled selections, the scallops ($14.95) consisted of six to eight over-salted specimens served naked and shivering, save for some capers, in a disposable aluminum container.
Though I didn't love the meal, I was disappointed to find that Bongo Fry Shack was not yet serving dessert when I was there. If I were to take an educated guess, I imagine they'd put a Creamsicle on a paper plate and charge $5. o