Momofuku Ko

Photograph by James Pomerantz
Photograph by James Pomerantz

“Nobody lives there, and it is our guess that nobody ever has lived there,” this magazine said, in 1952, of the perfunctorily named Extra Place, just east of the Bowery. Today, lots of people live there—the young and the moneyed, mostly, in big glass condos. David Chang’s newest, grandest restaurant is at the end of the block, with twenty-three seats, which are booked weeks in advance, and a hundred-and-seventy-five-dollar tasting menu. The chefs, enclosed within a U-shaped bar, are the literal center of attention. There are seven of them, mostly dudes in black T-shirts, and they dole out uni from a wooden Japanese tray, spray atomized sherry over a coupe glass, and deliver brusque sermons on obscure ingredients like finger limes.

The evening’s performance, which takes about two and a half hours for around fourteen courses, is probably good for couples who have run out of things to say to each other. Guests approach the meal with diligence. One night, a man in a springtime scarf asked how something should be eaten: a wisp of uni and a scoop of fermented chickpea paste, in a pool of bright-green olive oil. The chef who delivered the dish, and who had explained that the purée was developed in the Momofuku Food Lab, shrugged. He was probably right to suggest that it didn’t matter—the dish was lovely, briny and citrusy in equal measure, and uniformly velvety—but it was hard not to feel a pang of nostalgia for waiters, who at least have to feign interest in the diner’s experience.

The traditional signposts of a tasting menu were all there—bread, pasta, fish, then meat, even petit fours—but the meal was disconcerting as well as delicious, which was maybe the point. Among a parade of canapés, a conceptual take on potato chips and pimento cheese was strange and cold. Later, a bowl of scrambled eggs and caviar was irresistible almost by definition, and all the more so when piled on top of the superlative house-made sourdough. Following the haute stoner food was a new kind of bolognese, orecchiette and octopus with a lingering taste of soy. Along the back wall, a butcher’s wunderkammer of splayed chicken feet and venison loin promised much, but in the end there was just one meat course, a perfect portion of glazed duck breast in XO sauce.

Chang has taught us at once how to take food more seriously and consume it more casually. The coasters are local and artisanal, but you clean up your own crumbs on the marble countertop. Everyone’s too busy spooning pineapple dashi into a petri dish dotted with hydrated basil seeds to scrape your mess away, and thank goodness for that. ♦

Open for dinner Wednesdays through Sundays. Tasting menu $175.

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