The Chew Crew
Fun, Lively Professionals, who fancy themselves chronic masticators, convene regularly as Chew Club. Each month, a different restaurant plays host to intimate (or large, like we recently had at Kang Suh Korean BBQ) dinner parties. The RSVP system is first come, first serve, so it's a rather roulette-ish turn as to who ultimately ends up at your table.
One Sunday in May, me and members of the Chew Crew-some of us college mates, others old pals from previous dinners, others brand spanking new to the club-found ourselves at Chelsea's Cookshop.
As Chew founder, I designate each month's restaurant. Sometimes it's a five-star or trendy new joint, other times my pick scrapes the mucky-barrel bottom of chowhound obscurity. The Cookshop is a combination of all three: One of those sorry bub, Jean-Georges-does-not-dwell-here places tailor-made for serious diners, yet it's so under the radar, no Chew Crew member had ever heard of it. It's one thing to be drawn to restaurants by celebrity chefs, and another to be drawn by serious food. Those who are seeking serious food come to a restaurant like Cookshop.
The meal started off with a bang: The initial ordering balkanized me; Edgar the lawyer; his doctor-fiancée, Marie; and my college mate, Herby, splitting an order each of the caramelized onion and buffalo mozzarella pizza ($10) and the fresh Florida shrimp with Georgia grits and chili-ramp butter ($12). Meanwhile, salads ruled the cousins' corner (they're literally cousins), with Renee getting the shaved trumpet royale mushroom and fried salsify salad ($10) and Lisa and Fern sharing the local spinach salad, peppered with Maytag blue cheese, honey-roasted pecans and red onion and sherry vinaigrette ($9). Our pizza wasn't earth shattering, but was definitely good, as were the shrimp. As for the salads, the cousins' corner voted thumbs up.
Things began to go awry with the entrees. I was happy with my Long Island skate with chickpea and mussel broth and caper-raisin-green olive tapenade ($23). Though it's a no-brainer since I consider anyone who screws up skate to be an idiot, and the Cookshop's Chef Marc Meyer is brilliant at what he does. However, Marie was not as lucky with her $36 grass-fed New York strip steak, with bacon, cheddar and green-chili Yukon gold potatoes and five-onion marmalade. She dug in with vigor-like the surgeon that she is-but didn't find the steak rare enough and asked if she could get a new one. Meanwhile, Edgar happily downed his free-range baby chicken with cornmeal spoonbread and asparagus ($21), and Herby found his whole roasted Atlantic porgy with spice fries ($23) acceptable, but not thrilling. Renee and Fern had roast suckling pig (that night's special) and Lisa had the arctic char accompanied by the Appaloosa bean and arugula ragu with fennel-oregano jam ($25).
Luckily, our waiter was charming, fun and his service superb. Additionally, the layout and ambience of this L-shaped restaurant fed into my soft spot for California, both in terms of its modern decor as well as its fresh, unpretentious American cuisine. However, it failed to thrill me in the way that restaurants like Craft and Blue Hill at Stone Barns did-or the now-defunct AZ.
Yes, there's that word again: thrill. I came to the Cookshop expecting to be wowed, but wasn't. The dark chocolate meringue layer cake with vanilla ice cream I had was a dud. Meanwhile, the others ordered the butterscotch crème brulee, with rum-raisin pound cake: Exceptional! But, alas, it wasn't ours. Maybe that was the problem all along: as all regular diners know-sometimes you get unlucky and bypass a restaurant's culinary superstars. But I still have big love for the Cookshop, I just hope next time my gamble pays off.
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