There have been many times where I’ve walked into a crowded restaurant, battled my way through the crowds to find a host and inquire about a table, only to be told I would have to wait an hour, and promptly turned on my heels and plowed my way back through the throngs. On Friday night, I was faced with such a scenario. And yet, I didn’t leave. Instead, I stayed, and quite happily I might add, waiting on a rather wobbly steel swivel stool (appropriate in size for the bottom of a ten year-old) at a “bar,” really a lean-to facing a wall of wainscoting hung with a chicken-wire mirror, listening to the voice of a man bellowing at the top of his lungs, who clearly had never learned about inside voices. While the seat was about as comfortable as sitting on a thumb tack, and the man seated next to me was such a loud buffoon I had a hard time concentrating on my own conversation with Jamie, I could not have been happier. I was drinking a glass of hard cider from the Finger Lakes, I was getting together with one of my closest friends (an activity I have not been able to do with as much frequency as I would like), and I was at Northern Spy, a place where the welcome is warm, the food is delicious, and the attitude that often accompanies hour-waits for tables is completely absent. This place is a gem.

Northern Spy, named for the variety of apple, is a rather new (and rather lovely) addition to the East Village locavore scene that’s already earned great buzz both in print and on the blogs. It’s well deserved. A sort of cross between Back Forty and Brooklyn Larder, the concept is a combination of famer’s market and all-day restaurant serving lunch, dinner, and brunch. It’s owned by three friends: Christophe Hille (A-16), Nathan Foot (One Market, Jardinierre), and Chris Ronis, who wanted to open a modest authentic spot serving and selling food sourced from the Northeast and Mid-Atlantic regions.

Unlike Market Table, which tried this combination platter of market and restaurant and then switched to an all “table” format, the folks at Northern Spy seem to have a found a set up that doesn’t take revenue away from the restaurant with market space. The real estate for tables, which are all located in the front of the low-lit room, is not infringed upon by the market, which you’ll find secreted in the rear just before the washroom, with two glass cases filled with local dairy products and beers, and a wall of cute wooden cubbies lined with jars of jams, preserves, brines, and pickles. It’s a great place for impulse purchases – having people browse while on line to pee. Brilliant.

The rest of the space has a kind of country farmhouse meets urban loft vibe. Walls are covered with large rectangles of sheets of framed wallpaper—ticker stripes, flowers, and petals in greens and blues—each lit with an individual sconce like a piece of high art, inset against the weathered gray wainscoting. The room is lit by steel grey bulbs in industrial lamps. A lone ceiling fan hums along above. The crowd is mostly of the young variety, with lots of beards, tattoos, flannel, and skinny leggings in the mix. Jamie and I may have been the oldest ones there (gasp).

Menus, printed on brown paper in courier new font, include selections of local and domestic beers (four on tap and a dozen in bottles), and a selection of French, Italian, and Spanish wines, with just three domestic selections: one from the Finger Lakes (Herman Wiemer Riesling), another from the North Fork (Shinn Estate Cab Franc/Merlot), and a third from California (Joel Gott’s Cabernet Sauvignon) for good measure. While the beer list is quite a nice list, with mostly small batch brews from local spots, the wine list could certainly use a few more local selections. Hopefully that is in the works.

But other than the wine list, which is a small quibble in any case, Northern Spy hit the mark in every respect. While the place is mobbed, the servers are lovely, patient, happy, and genuinely knowledgeable about the food, both its preparation and its source. The bearded, flannel shirted host, who took my name and informed me of the (dreaded) hour-long wait, could not have been more hospitable, offering to serve us some snacks at the bar while we waited, and keeping us updated about the status of our table. And the food is remarkably good: seasoned perfectly, cooked beautifully, and with inspired combinations of flavors and textures.

For instance, a kale salad ($10) is served chiffonaded and tossed with little nuggets of nutty clothbound cheddar cheese, roughly chopped almonds, tender chunks of roasted kabocha squash, a fluff of grated pecorino, and a bright lemony dressing to sharpen all the flavors. Pickled eggs ($3 for two large eggs, each one split in half) are served with a tangle of pickled red onions and are so boldly brined, they might stand in on a burger instead of the cucumber variety. Order these with a cold pint while waiting for your table. You could also snack on a potato flatbread with rosemary ($4), a bowl of olives ($4), or a Farmstead cheese board ($10).

When you sit down, do make sure to pay attention to the specials because there will be at least two different preparations of Fleisher’s pastured pork and you will want to try at least one. The porchetta is a must have according to the food press, but Jamie and I went instead for the homemade pork meatballs ($11) in a sweet and pulpy marinara sauce. I don’t know how familiar any of you are with Matzoh balls but there are two schools of thought on how to cook them and I think the theory is equally applicable to meatballs. Some people like the sinkers (dense) and others like the floaters (light and fluffy). These meatballs are of the floater variety, so light and fluffy and yet richly porky, that I think the cooks may be inflating them with air in the back before serving them (the matzoh ball trick is seltzer water after all). Whatever they are doing, please take my word for it: keep doing it. These are the best meatballs in the city.

We also had the special pasta and this was a revelation as well: sheets of fresh pasta served with stinging nettles (tasted like spinach to me) with ricotta cheese, in a sauce of lemony butter sauce cooked down with garlic and chives and then hit with a dose of blood orange. I know there was a lot of butter in this dish, I saw it swimming in the bottom of the bowl, but with the lemon and the blood orange, you don’t taste it. It’s remarkably light for a dish that probably contains my caloric allowance for the day. But all you taste are the flavors of the cheese, the greens, and that lovely fresh pasta. So you keep eating. Yum.

The menu is particularly suited to vegans and vegetarians, with quite a number of meatless options to choose from including a mushroom sandwich with clothbound cheddar, confited potatoes and greens ($10), a farmer’s salad (this recipe should be shared with anyone who is a member of a CSA) composed of kohlrabi, turnips, sweet potatoes, celery root, arugula and a yogurt vinaigrette ($9), and a Freekeh (a Middle Eastern green wheat) risotto with butternut squash and mascarpone ($11), polenta with braised greens, roasted mushrooms and crème fraiche with ($14) or without baked eggs ($11), and sides (all $5) like red quinoa with mint, radishes, and sherry vinegar, wild rice with local feta, mint and lemon and runner beans with cheddar and parsley.

Then again there is quite enough for the carnivore, though the conscious, sustainable one, too. For instance, the crispy chicken thigh sandwich topped with poached eggs and chimichurri ($11), the country ham sandwich with pickled onions and Landaff cheese ($10), or the pork terrine with pickled vegetables, Dijon mustard and crostini. At dinner, we went for the roasted Bobo farms chicken, juicy, succulent, and fragrant with herbs and lemon, served with a generous batch of Brussels sprouts all swimming in a natural jus livened up with lemon ($15). While we ate, slowly and leisurely over several courses with several beverages, two sets of neighbors came and left, everyone passing plates back and forth, sharing in that way that foodies must.

After our table was cleared, our waitress came round to offer dessert. We were torn. We had really eaten more than our share, but when we heard about the caramel tart, the decision was made. We would eat more. The tart was delicious, more of a creamy caramel custard than a sticky caramel, actually, and it was poured into an almond crust served with fresh whipped cream and candied lemon zest. While I really shouldn’t have, I did. I finished it. Mon dieu.

I was so pleased with my meal at Northern Spy. Really, I was thrilled. The food was cooked with soul, and it was incredibly reasonably priced (dinner for two was $80). Plus, I haven’t had much luck lately. I was really disappointed in Roman’s, which was my last real dinner out. So eating at Northern Spy was kind of like having a really good date after a rash of bad ones. You feel happy, filled with hope, and looking forward to the next time. An hour wait isn’t so bad for all that.

Northern Spy is located at 511 East 12th Street, between Avenues A & B, 212-228-5100. No reservations.

Andrea Strong