MY DINNER AT THE ORCHARD

Lately, I have been thinking a lot about the concept of “searching.” We are all, it seems, searching for something. Whether it's something completely mundane—the perfect shower curtain (Jonathan Adler), the best lip gloss (Fresh Lip Shine in Nova), a great pair of jeans (AGs)—or something more essential—true love, a rewarding career, a sense of inner peace, a perfect meal—we all yearn and search. Sometimes in vain, and sometimes not.

These days, I find myself searching not for love, not for inner peace, but for something more readily attainable: real estate. (Specifically a one-bedroom apartment in the Union Square area.) After my 36 years of life, I have come to a point where I want a home of my own, a place where there is door that leads to somewhere other than the bathroom, a pad where I actually have to unplug my vacuum cleaner to cover the entire apartment, a joint where I don’t run the risk of a brutal bruising just by virtue of standing up and walking around. And so my search has begun. I am online every day riffling through listings, hoping to find my one bedroom Mr. Right amid the fray. “This one looks good,” I think. The photos are great, the buzzwords are there—spacious, light-filled, a true find! And then every Sunday, as I traipse from open house to open house, I find frauds. Apartments that claim to be sunny and spacious are dingy and minute; places that advertise charm and hard wood floors present with old paint jobs and stinky moldy carpet. I am overwhelmed by highly desirable listings that are complete shams, one bedrooms in name only—dark, closet sized rooms large enough for a twin bed, bathrooms that require acrobatics to reach the shower, kitchens without stoves or refrigerators.

Believe me, the parallels between the world of real estate and the world of dating are not lost on me. Are we all trying to lie our way into being chosen, afraid that the truth will leave us on the market forever? Maybe. But, let me tell you, it’s enough to drive you to drink. And I already drink! So, friends, it seems that the search for my dream home may have to be shelved until the market softens, perhaps when sustainably raised Berkshire pig’s start to fly around the city.

But there is one search I will never surrender—the one true constant of my life—the journey towards a killer meal.

And the other night, I found it.

From the street, you can’t help but be drawn to it. The light shines through the restaurant’s façade—a wide windowed storefront dressed in a stretch of wooden Venetian blinds, tilted downward, letting the light slip out into the night, warming the sidewalk with a soft copper glow. The restaurant’s name, carved from wood, grazes the top of the blinds. It reads, THE ORCHARD.

Walk inside and you’ll find the warm copper glow fills the bar room, a cool, contemporary space, washed in smooth pale wood, with a row of bar stools covered in a creamy, hot cocoa-colored suede. The dining room carries on with the same amber light, a nice touch for the windowless room, lined with a long stretch of cocoa-colored banquettes along one wall and an assortment of hand-made wooden tables for two and four down the center and far wall.

The restaurant is the third project from chef John LaFemina, the salt of the earth guy behind those amazing pizzas at Apizz, and Frank’s business partner at Peasant. Down to the bones of this restaurant, The Orchard is a rare labor of love. LaFemina is a self-taught chef who custom built and designed everything in the restaurant from the exit signs to the tables and chairs to the bar, and light fixtures with the help of Arturo Torres, a former carpenter from Mexico, and a dishwasher here in New York City for 15 years. Arturo’s son works for John at Apizz, and when John was looking for someone to help him build, Dad stepped in to help. LeFemina was wowed by his talent, artistry and craftsmanship. Arturo, who is now the restaurant’s dessert chef, also helped John build the wine storage units, which will house a list of 200 wines, but for now, The Orchard is still BYOB. (Stop by at September Wines around the corner.)

The menu John offers is American with a gracious nod to Italy, and it is a menu that is just easy to be around, like a friend you can hang out with for days and days. It is nothing too complex, nothing that requires an explanation, and everything that makes sense.

I have been to dinner at The Orchard a few times now (Bruni was there on my last visit), and I have always had a great meal. There is consistency here, and that speaks volumesI have made a habit of starting with the flatbreads, immediately ordering a few to have on the table to snack on while deciding what to eat next. They are not so much pizzas as they are super crispy, cracker-breads, rectangular in shape, with toppings like steak tartare with Dijon potatoes, wild arugula and Parmesan-Reggiano ($12), messy pulled duck confit with sweet orange chutney, crème fraiche and frisee ($13), and melting gobs of Robiola cheese with hunks of Applewood smoked bacon, sautéed spinach and sweet pop from dried cranberries ($12). They are ideal for sharing and snacking, two of my favorite activities.

I can’t remember the last time I was wowed by a salad. But here were two that did it. The crispy rock shrimp ($14) was a super-fly salad situation­—a mix of fluffy greens tossed with golden popcorn shrimp, sweet and juicy tangerines segments, pomegranate seeds to give your mouth a little POP!, and a dressing made from orange juice and honey for a sweet tart finish. Jamie and Alison were all over it. Which gave me a running start on the drunken goat cheese salad ($13), which was equally desirable—crunchy hearts of romaine, cherry tomatoes, chewy housemade croutons, and slices of Spanish wine-aged goat cheese, swept up in a lively red wine vinaigrette.

The tuna tartare ($16)—usually ho hum—was turned into something that made me give it a curious, but happy sideways glance. Like, Whatchutalkin ‘bout tuna? It stopped my fork in its tracks. A mound of diced yellowfin tuna is shamelessly seasoned with lime, chiles, and sea salt, and served with chunky guacamole, crème fraiche and hot and salty fried tostones as edible spoons. It’s almost like a ceviche more than a tartare, but semantics are not important here people. It’s killer. Scoop a bit of the tartare on top of a crispy hot tostone, top it with some guac and a dollop of crème fraiche, and tell me you are not the happiest you’ve been since the invention of Tivo.

Entrees are also surprising, and surprisingly good. For instance, his homemade cavatelli is served in a rough chopped sauce made from plum and cherry tomatoes, crispy pancetta, avocado, and a light tomato cream. Avocado in pasta? Come again? That’s what we said. But yes, there was avocado in the pasta. Creamy chunks of it, actually. And against the smokiness of the pancetta and the acidity of the tomatoes, it works. Give it a whirly whirl.

Olive oil poached halibut ($24) shows that someone in that kitchen can cook fish, and well. A generous ivory slab was moist and flaky and sweet, and served with a wild side of these amazing crispy black beans—fried and crispy on the outside, creamy on the inside—tossed with lots of lime juice, chiles, and a touch of crème fraiche. I really had a thing for those beans. Luckily I went home alone that night. But really, who knew black beans could be this inspired. On another night, Kiri and I shared a great bowl of grilled fennel farfalle with leeks, peas, and fennel puree ($20), and a fish that matched the halibut—poached stripped bass with French beans, cherry tomatoes, and Sauvignon Blanc broth ($23).

Desserts end the meal on a light and silly note. I loved the mini carrot cakes, precious petit four sized frosted cakes, nicely spiced, that you can just pop in your mouth, one after another. They made me happy.

The Orchard is a fun, easy, comfortable place to hang out and spend an evening. It is not trying to put one over on you, it is not pretending to be something it is not. And it is refreshing, in this world of trumped up hype and dashed expectations, to find a restaurant that is what it is—no more, no less—a sweet, solid, consistent neighborhood restaurant with good food and a warm vibe.

And while I don’t know if I will ever find a home to call my own—a nice apartment with lots of light, with a bedroom large enough for a bed, a kitchen with a fridge and a sink, a bathroom where showering is not an Olympic sport—I will keep searching, knowing that every once in a very long while, you find exactly what you are looking for.

The Orchard is located at 162 Orchard Street, between Stanton and Rivington Street, 212-353-3570.

Andrea Strong