The Strong Buzz

“Reynard”

April 24, 2013

On Saturday night, Craig and I had dinner at Reynard—Andrew Tarlow’s popular farm-to-table restaurant at the Wythe Hotel. It had been on my list since it opened and received high marks from Pete Wells, and given that I am just about ready to have this second baby, we figured it was now or in 10 years’ time.

Naturally, since I had not booked months in advance, there were no reservations available when I called, but I was told there were walk-in tables set aside. We arrived at the hipster-free hour of 6pm, and when we informed the hostess (a pretty young girl with a 1000-watt smile) that we didn’t have a reservation, she did not snarl, snicker, or look down her nose at us. Nor did she point at my gigantic pregnant belly and cry out, “Wow, you are really bloated!!!” Instead, she promptly and sweetly escorted us to a lovely two-top. No purgatory tables for those without reservations. Nice!

At our table by the window, we looked over the well-edited dinner menu, an haute locavore collection that naturally includes a daily cast of ingredients like hand-curated seasonal vegetables and happy-go-lucky meats raised without hormones, antibiotics, or an ounce of pessimism. It’s all cooked up on a wood-fired grill the size of the hood of an old Chevy in a sparsely decorated, urbanely elegant room with soaring ceilings and reclaimed weathered wood floors that used to be the first floor of a Cooperage.

The menu on Saturday offered tilefish, whole trout, and chicken, in addition to three cuts of steak from 6 ounces of flatiron to 2.5 pounds of bone in ribeye, with sides of potatoes, bacon and escarole. Given that I am 9 months pregnant, we decided to go all in with a one and a half pound steak ($93) to share, after our starter: a terrific smoky Caesar topped with a runny poached egg over fluffy piles of crisp bitter greens. Bread and butter are served as well, the grassy butter soft and creamy, nothing cold that might rip through the bread.

The room filled up as we waited for our steak feast: A large group with babies and toddlers out for a family celebration, and a slew of very attractive couples made of up guys (all bearded) and girls (all in vintage wear with Buddy Holly-styled glasses, not needed for any sort of vision impairment). The room grew from peaceful and quiet to pleasantly buzzing. The lights were dimmed. I felt as though I was on the set of a Matthew Weiner period piece about Williamsburg, circa 2013.

Everything about Reynard so far was just perfect--our server, the setting, the crowd. Everything, that is, except our steak when it arrived—grey and lifeless, tough as shoe leather and just as palatable. We could barely cut through it, let alone chew it. We contemplated what to do. Should we suffer through it, or ask for something else? At $93, we decided we needed to at least talk to our server about the situation. She looked at the steak, looked at us, and we waited for her reaction. I was ready to be sent home. Instead, she was wildly apologetic and agreed that the steak did not look well. She offered to bring over menus for us to re-order, which we did, opting for two portions of the flank steak instead. It was a completely pleasant exchange. How lovely.

While we waited for our new dinners, she refilled Craig’s wine glass on the house and sent out two complimentary apps as mid-courses: an earthy roasted beet salad, with caramelized baby orange roots sweet as gum drops, dotted with creamy ricotta and surrounded by a border of bright citrus supremes; and a hearty “stew” of creamy white beans, bits of sausage, and braised escarole. The steaks arrived shortly thereafter, and they were right as rain: juicy, salty, ruby red in the center, charred on the crust. What a difference from that dull, greying ribeye.

We lingered for a while after our steaks, picking at the last bits of the side of smoky lardons and roasted potatoes. I was sure we’d be pushed out as the hour was getting past 8pm. I asked the waitress if it was okay to rest a bit before dessert, or if they needed the table back for an actual reservation, and she said, “Stay as long as you like.” And we did. Eventually, we shared a little citrus tart for dessert: cheek-puckering lemon curd topped with blood orange segments and crème fraiche ice cream. As we ate, I thought back to the night I was at NoMad earlier this year, when I was served their signature raw chicken for $80. While the kitchen did recook the chicken so that it was no longer raw, I was not offered anything while I waited for it to be recooked. The chicken’s side dishes were removed with the chicken, and then not returned when the chicken was eventually brought back to our table. When I pointed this out, I had to wait for the sides as well, and by the time the entire meal was reassembled I was fed up. For this haphazard meal served in several stages (rendering some cold), I was charged $80. I was not pleased, and I have no intention of returning to NoMad.

Quite the opposite occurred with Reynard, where they turned a kitchen goof into an opportunity. They won me over with their kindness and hospitality. They didn’t need to send me a mid-course, they could’ve just comp’d the big bad steak. But they went the extra mile to make sure their guest was taken care of. And because of that, I will be returning to Reynard as soon as I can, even if it’s with Emily and her baby brother in tow.  Kudos to the staff at Reynard. They not only do the locavore, hipster Brooklyn thing well, they do the hospitality thing brilliantly, too. And that, quite frankly, is priceless.

Reynard is located at the Wythe Hotel, 80 Wythe Avenue, 718-460-800.

Andrea Strong