The drone of contempt about the impossibility of finding a proper taco in New York is a defining characteristic of West Coast transplants. Down the drab end of Park Avenue, though, Justin Smillie is filling a lesser-known gap in the city’s offerings of Californian cuisine. Upland, named for the town in which Smillie grew up, is a retreat from the beach to the badlands at the foot of the San Gabriel Mountains, with a menu of teeming pizzas and robust meat dishes.
The restaurant opened in late October, and on some early visits enthusiasm trumped detail: a chilled sea-urchin spaghetti was an “homage to Chef’s favorite East Village restaurant,” though no one could remember which one. Sadly, the lemon in the creamy sauce wasn’t as elusive, and wading through the thickly coated farro noodles for a few globs of sea urchin was an exercise against the clock, before the sauce coagulated entirely. Mostly, though, there’s payoff to those big, straightforward flavors: the only quotation marks on the menu, thank goodness, are around “Caesar,” and they’re not even needed, because the garlic-anchovy dressing on the salad was spot on, an invigorating saline embrace to which even the heartiest lettuces can only succumb. There’s an exuberance, too, to the pork-chop dish, served with its crackling skin intact, in a plating that resembles a Dutch still-life: crescents of ripe, roasted persimmons; long, charred slivers of spring onion; and bright-red fingers of Jimmy Nardello peppers, a sweet heirloom variety, rarely found outside California. Fruit with pork isn’t new, but persimmons make for an especially juicy combination, and it’s one of those rare occasions when an entrée trumps the easy, cheesy thrills of the appetizers that came before.
Not that those don’t exist in abundance: the pizza section of the menu caters to after-work happy-hour gatherings, those great six o’clock stampedes of the Flatiron district’s relatively cavernous spaces which for a moment each day make it feel like D.C. The happy crowds are already flocking to the equally cheery bar area of Upland, for rejiggered mint juleps made from mezcal, an unusually fragrant Italian sour, and a bourbon cocktail finished with shaved nutmeg that tickles the nose. Given these persuasively boozy creations, the pizzas are much better than they need to be: blistered and chewy, with almost oddball toppings, like walnut pesto, shiso, and straciatella. Most of the drinkers don’t move into the brasserie-like dining area, where preserving jars filled with artichokes and lemons glow amber, and diners must roll up their sleeves to engage with the messy but memorable bucatini alla carbonara. There’s an irresponsible amount of pancetta sprinkled on top of the porky sauce. What does it have to do with California? Who cares. Authenticity’s got no chance against bacon bits. ♦
Open daily for dinner. Entrées $16-$52.
