Colicchio and Sons

Even after the Diet Coke commercials, it's hard not to root for Tom Colicchio, whose return to the kitchen has been roundly heralded. Add the fact that Colicchio and Sons has the best website of any restaurant in New York (thank you for sparing us the photo montages and bios of the prep cooks, TC), and we made reservations as quick as we could.


The centerpiece of the (misguided) steakhouse that once inhabited the space remains: an elevated view of the High Line overlain with text on its history by the marvelous painter Stephen Hannock. Renovations cost nearly half a million dollars, yet the space still feels too large, casual, cacophonous, and Meatpackingesque for the desired effect: a seasonal restaurant, built around a wood oven, with a star chef who wants to keep doing what made him famous in the first place.



Dinner started with a warm tray of Parker House rolls. A bold idea, especially at first when they're warm and buttery, but after they sat for a little while they became plain old dinner rolls. Next came an amuse bouche of . . . well . . . we don't really know. The food runner mumbled something that sounded like either "ham back" or "duck ham" and took off before we could ask for clarification. Mysterious, sure, but good, with little chunks of apple nestled within the curl of the meat.



For our first course, we had agnolotti with pork belly, octopus, and chorizo --- an awesome flavor bomb. The squid and lobster tagliatelle got better the longer the acidic vinaigrette bled into the dark pasta and fish.



Our main courses continued the hearty / acidic line: rabbit with fennel and olives and pancetta-wrapped monkfish, served with braised red cabbage. As we ate our way through Barcelona back in January, we came across a perfect rabbit dish. The rabbit at Colicchio and Sons missed that standard but still satisfied, especially the crunchy, fatty ribs. After we ordered, we overheard our waiter telling another diner to avoid the monkfish if he disliked cabbage --- sound advice, as the cabbage absolutely made the dish, using a slight bitterness to meld the flaky fish to the salty meat.



We finished with a serviceable chocolate espresso tart, paired with a blood orange sorbet, and an order of coconut cream donuts. As the cream oozed down our chins, we rejoiced. How joyous to live in such times, when, whatever else you might want to say about America in 2010, we have elevated this humble stuff of Saturday breakfasts to the level of two-star dining!