Like many restaurants to open these days—Back Forty and Hundred Acres, to name just two—the conceit at the newly opened Forge is an exploration of simpler times and simpler foods, of locally sourced seasonal ingredients cooked earnestly and served in rustic rooms built from raw, organic materials like wood and brick, with walls adorned with vintage cookware and farm tools—a cast iron pan, a hammered copper pot, perhaps a random garden hoe. These restaurants represent a retreat from modernity, and a slower, softer approach to dining that at its best works quite well, reminding us how the most basic ingredients can be transporting.

At Forge, a restaurant that carries this trend to the cobblestone streets of Tribeca, you’ll find the design speaks to that familiar farmhouse-styled vibe, but somehow here it feels more striking rather than monotonous. The rooms are built from raw wood and rough exposed brick, with low candlelight flickering on rugged wooden tables topped with tiny bud vases filled with a few blue cornflowers. Lining the walls are shelves of original cookery books and lots of old world cook’s tools in hammered brass and wrought iron. I felt like I was on the prairie and I half expected to hear a horse’s whinny coming from out back.

Indeed, on the wide wooden deck outside, where diners drink fresh juice cocktails in squat glasses, a forged steel iron railing looks like the perfect spot to tie your horse while having dinner. While I don’t have a horse anymore (I did as a teenager, and was the only Jewish kid from Queens up in the barns of North Salem, lemme tell ya, I stuck out like an eggplant in a pumpkin patch), I’d have loved to have ridden him down to dinner, hearing his big hooves clopping along on the cobblestone. Hey, gas is expensive, why are we not riding horses to work and to dinner? I’d feel a lot safer than on a bike. Hmm. I’ll have to look into that. Note to self to call 311. In any case, Forge’s design is imbued with many rough and tumble organic elements of the prairie that plays up nicely with chef Marc Forgione’s menu.

Forge, as he’s known to his pals, is a longtime disciple of Laurent Tourondel, and is also the son of Larry Forgione, one of the fathers of American cooking. He’s got an impressive pedigree, and he’s chosen a brief menu of seasonal American plates to demonstrate his skills.

But before you get to the menu, you’ll have the pleasure of having the fresh baked potato bread rolls which fill the dining room with the delicious aroma of butter melting on a stove. This eau de beurre comes from the centerpiece of the restaurant, an old farmhand’s wood-filled stove where the rolls are heated and then painted with pools of (yes, yes) melted butter, and sprinkled with sea salt before they are delivered to your table (where you will devour them and then look pleadingly at the busboy to bring you more.)

I’ll be honest with you. My expectations were pretty high after I dug into one of those potato pups—soft and warm plied with plenty of melted butter. They continue to climb when cocktails are so spare and perfectly balanced. My tequila drink (shaken with agave and lime) was tart and sweet—just perfect ($12). But things started to get a little shaky when appetizers arrived.

The heirloom tomato and bacon salad was good, with summer’s luscious late August fruit piled high with hunks of Midnight Moon Goat Cheese, and a slice of brioche topped with smoked onion marmalade and thick cut smoky bacon ($12), but the bacon was very tough and somehow the salad didn’t quite come together to wow me. I was also let down by the watermelon soup with lump crabmeat ($15), which was thinned out so much that it lost all its flavor and body and tasted more like watermelon water. The lump crabmeat garnish didn’t add anything or get anything from swimming in the soup either. I found it to be a rather odd accessory. The kampachi tartare ($18) was wonderful—a beautiful dice of silky fish adorned with red radish and diced avocado, with crisp, salty Saratoga potato chips, but it was immersed in a cloying bath of overpowering sweet soy that washed away its pristine flavors. I’d plate it without the soy, and let it be. A bowl of fresh black pepper linguini, however, was terrific—its peppery bite was nicely matched with a clutch of briny clams ($14).

As Kiri and I chatted in between courses, I tried to resist the second round of rolls that had been placed in the center of our table. But the butter was so warm and I watched it slip down the sides of the rolls, and I was a goner. I was now on roll number two, with four days to go until I had to fit into my wedding dress. Not good.

The kitchen seemed to find its stride with entrees. The organic chicken is stuffed under the skin and roasted and served with country bread and Stan’s grilled vegetables ($26). While the skin is not as crispy as I’d hoped, it’s a comforting supper that I could see returning to have on a stormy night, with a nice bottle of light-bodied red wine.

While the chicken was humble, the fish special that night was dazzling. A 10-ounce skate wing is prepared Milanese style, breaded and pan-fried and topped with a bright and pungent sauce of eggplant, onions, capers and lemon that made this my favorite plate of the evening. The sea bass, wrapped in a tight coat of smoky bacon wasn’t too shabby either, adorned with briny, grape-sized Cerignola olives, candied lemon and a smooth layer of velvety artichoke puree ($27).

The steak ($22) was also excellent—a generous portion of hanger steak served sliced—charred and salty on the outside, rare and luscious in the center—dressed with a fierce chimichurri and served with a side of “Jim Beard’s Hash Browns,” more like a classic potatoes gratin loaded up with cream and gruyere cheese than the golden edged breakfast special, but quite wonderful nonetheless.
Desserts were perfect for Forge’s big sky setting. We demolished the peach upside-down cake—think peach tart tatin, but flipped over—with sweet corn ice cream and caramel corn ($9) and considered ordering another. Hey, I’d had two rolls slathered in melted butter at this point, what harm would two more upside-down cakes do? But then the jelly donuts arrived, fat plum-filled bon bons of dough with a lemon Verbena Crème dipping sauce. What harm would a few jelly donuts do…

As we had some tea (their tea service is lovely, served in hand made clay pots and matching mugs ideal for the campfire) and finished the donuts, we watched as the room grew more crowded, and filled with a great little buzz. A big group of friends was seated at the communal table and began toasting to a birthday girl, a group of guys descended onto the bar, grabbing stools at the long rough-hewn bar table, ordering a round and raising their glasses. While some of the menu is in need of a few tweaks Forge is a gracious, convivial, and sexy restaurant, the sort of place you want to come in and stay a while, drink a while, then hop on your horse to take you home.

Forge is located at 134 Reade Street, near Hudson Street, (212) 941-9401.

Andrea Strong