Do you ever wonder what goes through people’s minds in naming their restaurants? I do. The question popped into my mind when Amanda Cohen opened Dirt Candy, and again when I heard about a restaurant called At Vermilion. Maybe “Ah, Vermilion,” or just plain “Vermilion,” but why “At Vermilion?” What’s the point of the “AT? Was it so they’d be in the A column in Zagat? If so, then they should have called it Ambitious Vermilion, Aggressive Vermilion, or even Assertive Vermilion. At least these adjectives help accurately describe the this lofty restaurant located on the bottom level of a typical non-descript office building in midtown (it’s located in the former Django space).  But “At?” What good is that? Other than to make your sentences sound quite bizarre. Beats me.

Leaving the name aside for a moment, let’s discuss the rest of the concept. The restaurant is quite large by comparison to other more modest restaurants that have recently opened. In these lean times, I’d say that owner Rohini Dey and her chef Maneet Chauhan are taking a chance opening a restaurant the size of a football field, but they’re also taking risks by serving an uncharted cuisine on the theme of Indian meets Latin. When I first read about the hybrid menu of this Chicago import, I scratched my head. Are these cuisines cousins? From the press materials I learned that owner Rohini Dey feels the Indian-Latin concept of At Vermilion is based on the historical cross-flows and culinary influences of the Persians, Moors, Spanish and Portuguese, as well as the tropical and geographical overlap of ingredients – such as coconut, tamarind, mango, beans, rice, guava and plantain, all utilized extensively in both cuisines. It’s not an immediately apparent connection, but I thought why not? I’m game.

So I went to midtown recently and had dinner at At Vermilion (I’ll never get used to that). I was greeted by a bustling bar with after-work drinkers—a good sign. As I was led up the white marble stairs to the L-shaped dining room, I thought the room felt very Philippe Starck on a very strict budget; the room is very modern, bright and airy, a little too stark for me, and not enough Starck. I couldn’t help but wish I were as glamorous as the life-sized photographs done by Indian fashion photographer Farrokh Chithia that hang on the walls, but hey, at least the tables were spaced well enough so I didn’t have to navigate my butt around the neighboring table’s bottle of water. And I felt seduced by the music, and the view, even though it was just of East 46th Street. Somehow I felt away from the City by being right in the middle of it.

As we opened our menus, I was completely overwhelmed by options. The menu starts off with small plates a/k/a Indian Latin tapas, then moves onto the Tandoor with grilled meats and kabobs as well as breads and that was just on page one!  Page two included preparations with an Indian-Latin confluence, and a “Heat” section, a/k/a entrees from the Indian subcontinent, with spices untamed. The menu was too much. What happened to the good old days of Appetizers, Entrees and Desserts? I feared my face was becoming the color of vermilion and my hair untamed. I had no idea where to start. Thankfully, a server came over and took our cocktail order, but again, I was overwhelmed by choice. If you’re having a hard time deciding, try the Urban Cocktail Medley—four shooters in an ice block of a mango lassi with rum, a pomegranate ginger martini, blood orange capirinha, and a pani puri margarita. They definitely got our palates wet for what was to come, and as we tasted and tested, it was time to get down to the nitty gritty and order dinner. Out of frustration with the expansive nature of the menu, I decided to take it out of my hands and let my dinner companion do the ordering.

From the Small Plates (really appetizers) we started with the juhu ki pani puri with street Indian chaat, flour shells, spiced potato, and chili mint water ($8). This is a traditional street food, but to glam it up a little, chef Maneet Chauhan serves the chili mint water on the side. You pour some water into the flour cup and the trick is to put the whole piece in your mouth at once so water doesn’t run down your chin, sort of like an Indian soup dumpling. They were tasty, spicy and crunchy, but uneven in size. The large ones are particularly difficult to eat with grace. Don’t order these on a first date. I fell in love with the duck vindaloo arepa brushed pomegranate molasses, with curry leaf mango ($12). The duck was hot and vinegary, and the sweet corn arepa made a great bed for the shredded duck. I could’ve made a meal of them, that is until I tasted the wild boar jibarito— a street Puerto Rican open sandwich on plantain with pear-guajillo salsa ($10). The boar is served with fried plantains that you use like little crackers for the succulent boar mixture. It was addictive, and topped with the pear guajillo salsa, it was fantastic. These two dishes really made me think that Dey and Chauhan were onto something other than coming up with odd restaurant names.

For entrees we chose one mild—a tandoori skirt steak in an Indian marinade, with plantain chips, chorizo swiss, and jicama citrus ($25), and one a bit more wild—the miris Sri Lankan whole fish ($28.)  This food ain’t playing around, folks; it is big, bold and brassy. If Jennifer Lopez married Shahrukh Khan, I imagine they’d be cooking some of this food at home (or hiring someone to do so). The entrees arrived looking like meals fit for a Raja and Rani, large rectangular white plates that practically covered the table. If people ate with only their eyes, this place would be packed. The skirt steak was perfectly cooked as ordered, nicely charred on the outside and pink on the inside, but to my left was a shot glass of raita and I’m still not sure why. Raita, common in all Indian restaurants, is a condiment made with yogurt, cucumber, and other spices and is used as a dip or cooling agent when things get a little too hot on the plate, but here it seemed to have no purpose. The shot glass it came in was not conducive for dipping and the steak was not all that spicy. There was also a jicama “tortilla” filled with orange sections that fell out the moment you lifted it to your mouth. Swiss chard with chorizo made an appearance as well, but didn’t add much to he experience. The chorizo was shaved so thin it hardly had any flavor. I admire the artistry that went into the dish but some components were just unnecessary. Less is more.

The whole fish—a gorgeous red snapper—was served on a bright green banana leaf. While it was easy to filet for the experienced fish filet-er, that was not me. In any case, it had wonderful flavor and was meaty and moist with a delicious skin covered with slices of raw jalapeno peppers and ginger. Hey, we were in the heat section of the menu after all and this fish packed some punch. If you’re not a fan of spicy food, steer clear of this dish or you’ll be very sorry.

If all that doesn’t sound like enough, there is dessert to be had, and who am I to refuse? As the menu suggested, we “closed the deal” with the Vermilion Hedonism: dark chocolate flourless cake with chili, masala orange, and blueberry sorbet. It was deeply rich in chocolate, but average in the molten chocolate cake arena, and the sorbet tasted more of Masala than blueberry, and, personally I don’t mix fruit with my chocolate.  Our other dessert was a winner named Shahi Turk—regal Indian passion. It’s made from a rabri (a sweet thick sauce made from condensed milk and heavy cream seasoned with green cardamom powder and saffron), poured over an even richer pistaccio and almond cake, and rich (and wonderful) it was. Except for an overwhelming amount of rabri (again, less is more), it was a sweet and lovely way to end this meal of many flavors.

Overall, At Vermilion could use a few nips and tucks in the menu department. The choices need to be pared down and the per plate ingredient overload trimmed back as well. The owners certainly have their work cut out for them, but with a little tweak here and there it could become the restaurant sleeper of the year, like that movie recently, which went on to win a tandoor full of Oscars.  

At Vermilion is located at 480 Lexington Avenue (at 46th Street) in New York City, 212-871-6600.

—Elaine Weiner

Andrea Strong