Momofuku

You can't be fat if you want to eat at Momofuku.  Last night, my friend Nancy and I slid twenty feet down the slim gap between the stool-perched diners and the plywood-lined wall to get to our little section of the communal bar.  Our reward for the gut-sucking challenge?  Almost complete immunity from interruption at our comfortable share of counter space. 

Which is a rare thing these days, isn't it?  This low-ceilinged sliver of a restaurant was packed to capacity, with one long, neat row of diners along the long bar and two shorter parallel rows in front of the kitchen.  When you look at it from the front of the restaurant, it really looks like a fire hazard, but when you get to your actual seat, the space magically opens up.  Even with the clank and drone of the open kitchen and the hubbub of all the other diners (who are generally in groups of two, with maybe one group of four up by the door), I could hear everything Nancy was saying.  "Maybe it's the plywood," she opined, "or maybe it's the kitchen noise."  Amazingly, when I asked the chef about the gorgeous pile of ramps he was prepping, it was really difficult to hear what he was saying.  We really were in a magic cone of silence.

We did figure out, sadly, that those ramps were not destined to be eaten that night.  They were going to be one of the seasonal pickles in a few weeks.  No matter, though, Nancy and I had plenty to choose from.  Our generous seasonal pickle dish featured spicy daikon and napa cabbage kimchee, vinegary sliced shiitakes, cukes, and more napa cabbage, and sexy sweet-tart slices of satiny asian pear.  We wound up ordering a slew of small dishes since they seemed more appealing on the early summer night than a bowl of heavy, porky, hot soup.

Service was a tad slow, but we had plenty to look at.  Especially fascinating was watching the chef break in the new guy on the line with exhortations like, "What?  What?!  I can't hear you, you gotta speak up," and "It's all about consistency man." 

And the dishes were consistently good, though some were more spectacular than others.  The steamed buns with Berkshire pork are just about perfect -- the sinful fat of the pork sidled up to the silky, flattened steamed bun, the tart crunch of pickled sliced cucumber contrasting nicely with the sweet but judiciously spread hoisin.  "I could eat five of those," Nancy said, and I had to agree.  The sauteed pea shoots were of the tiny green snow-pea variety, smaller and more delicately flavored than bean sprouts, with slivered garlic and a delicious dousing of nutty oil.  The Glidden Point oysters from Washington with kimchee were not nearly cold enough for my taste, the liquor rather watery and the tiny dot of kimchee not adding enough spice or zing.  I think I'll have to wait til September for oysters.

The sweet sauce coated roasted rice cakes, crisp on one side and mochi-chewy throughout with throat-catching strands of fried onion, were fantastic til about 3/4 of the way through the plate, when I really should have put the chopsticks down and backed away, as all that glutinous rice starch began to expand in my gut and tire my teeth.  But I'm glad I saved room pan-roasted asparagus -- perfectly trimmed and shaved medium-size spears of spargel sat in a pool of heavenly miso butter, topped with a barely poached egg which spilled out white and gold when we poked it.  It was a culinary expression of spring fever, evoking fertility and sexuality in all its messy, primal glory. 

In all fairness, I should say that those saps along the opposite wall looked like they only had about a square foot of bar space for their dishes, which is fine for slurping up one bowl of ramen, but not for the very fashionable practice of sharing multiple little dishes.  And while I definitely love being able to taste everything interesting off the menu, I did feel just short of satisfied.  Maybe because the conversation was so effortless and audible, and we were so intent on catching up, that the food became the white noise.  Though it's not par for the course for me, I had a great time at Momofuku.  And sometimes, JUST SOMETIMES, it's not just about the food.

Grade:  A-

Total: $32 per person with tax and tip, we shared everything except I had the oysters, Nancy had a beer.

Will I go back?  Maybe in a few weeks, and only if I'm dining alone or with one other person.  I want to try those pickled ramps.  I suppose I'll have to try their noodles sometime too.  For you casanovas, it seems like a good place for a casual date.

Momofuku

163 First Avenue
(between 10th and 11th)

212-475-7899

F Train to 2nd Ave., L Train to 1st ave., 6 Train to Astor Pl., R Train to 8th St.