Hue to go guys!
There seems to be a conflict here. Hue (pronounced "hway"), a Franco-Vietnamese restaurant that opened a few weeks ago, wants to be all things to all people. The style-y duplex is a bar?and a lounge?and features a sushi menu?and wants to be your neighborhood hangout?
Hue's multiple personalities baffle. The restaurant is a self-described unpretentious dining spot, but with its bouncers and hostesses in headsets, Hue espouses the arbitrary exclusivity of the velvet rope.
I encountered the bouncer as I was leaving dinner.
"When did you get here?" I asked.
"9 o'clock."
"What is your job? Are you a bouncer?"
"Um, yeah, I just make sure that the right people are coming in."
"Oh, is there a dress code or something?"
"Um, yeah."
"Well, what is it?"
He glanced at my jeans. "Jeans are okay," he said.
"What isn't okay?"
Just as he said the word "sandals," a couple in matching flips-flops approached the door. "Can we not go in?" asked the man, who had caught the tail end of the conversation.
The bouncer paused. "Um?no."
"But it's summer!" I protested. "And the New York Times says that flip-flops are the new black!"
The bouncer stammered. "Oh, okay, yeah, go ahead." The puzzled couple looked at me, then at each other, and went inside.
Hue's other patrons either don't wear thong sandals, or don't mind being subject to a set of rules that seem to be made up on a whim. On a recent Saturday night, we were seated in the first-level dining area near the bar, which, in addition to a downstairs dining room and a lounge, makes up the entirety of the unnecessarily spacious Hue. Though its sparse but rich decor is striking?most notably the broad walnut planks on the floors and walls?the feeling in the rambling setting was one of disorganization and waste.
Coexisting patches of inactivity and intense shuffling also indicated that the venue hasn't quite figured itself out. The staff seemed to be living in separate universes; our waitress was solicitous and down-to-earth, whereas the hostesses were impatient and aloof. No specific culture of customer service seemed to have been established here, which can be as mystifying to employees as it is to diners.
In any place with so many variables fighting for attention, the food, especially a palate as demure as Franco-Vietnamese, ends up being dwarfed. If the dishes served here were transplanted into a true neighborhood setting it would have been a) less expensive and b) easier to enjoy.
The inverted sushi roll of goat's cheese, salmon, curry powder and coconut ($12.95) was a pleasure, a fresh and nourishing bite with satisfying textures?soft, crisp, chewy, creamy. Among the hot appetizers?Vietnamese shrimp ravioli ($10.95), pho bo ($9.95 for a generous small) and wok-seared squid ($8.95)?the pho bo, a rich and expertly seasoned beef broth with rice noodles and tasty slivers of fatty brisket was the best value of the evening and the preparation that showed the most experience. The squid was soft, even a bit jelly-like in texture, and extremely smoky, which I found overpowering after the first few bites. The only true disappointment among the appetizers was the shrimp ravioli, supposedly a signature dish of Hue. What I ate wasn't worthy of designation?three flaccid rice rolls with stuffing that tasted of a generic "Asian" flavor, with the shrimp almost impossible to discern.
The cocktails offered enticing and creative blends, though some were better realized than others. The Dragon's Kiss ($10), a mixture of lemon juice, honey, plum sake, vodka and green tea, was a smooth and mild drink with an unexpectedly floral finish. The Spice ($10), a pared-down combination of citrus vodka, ginger beer and lemon juice, was unpleasantly bitter (the lemon juice had probably turned) and had to be sent back. We replaced it with a Red River ($10)?white rum with fresh mint and raspberries?which was so strong that the subtlety of the mint and the tartness of the fresh raspberries were all but obliterated.
The hit-and-miss continued into the main course. First we tried the beef with sesame seeds with Asian okra ($18.95). With its earthy freshness, the okra, a pale green vegetable cut into chunks, evoked a marriage of squash and cucumber. The beef was rich and sweet, though the spiciness advertised in the menu was nowhere to be found. The surprise hit of my evening were the taro root fries ($5.95), hot, starchy sticks, sprinkled with salt, that are a testimony to the delights of well-executed simplicity. Our other side, coconut sticky rice ($3.95), was glistening and fragrant, a nice accompaniment to our other main course, the two-way duck, a sliced duck breast with leg confit and seared spinach ($21.95). The duck breast was fairly moist, and the confit (salty), cleverly presented on cucumber sticks stacked into a slatted box shape, just barely passed the confit test: It was cooked enough to be separated from the bone with minimum effort, though it should have fallen right off.
Desserts were promising: two riffs on Asian-American standards, fried ice cream and a root beer float with tapioca pearls, but fell somewhat flat. The float was fun to drink, but there was nothing premium about it, and the fried ice cream was presented in a gummy, tough-to-penetrate coconut shell enclosing half-melted, half-solid vanilla ice cream. The Vietnamese coffee was a weak and sickly brew.
Considered on its own, the food at Hue was all right, though something more obnoxious, flashier or gimmicky would have better suited the space. Kitchens should never be faulted for attempting delicacy, but a menu that aspires to nuance has no place in a venue that is undergoing an identity crisis. If Hue were to own up to what it is, which is first a scene-oriented hangout and a restaurant second, the food might escape the skepticism that the establishment inspires.