Wild Salmon

Dara writes:

James and I ate a late-night meal at the new restaurant Wild Salmon by Jeffrey Chodorow, he of food-fight-with-Frank-Bruni fame.

In the Times recently, Bruni took the high road and reviewed the new place fairly. He didn't like it that much, and neither did I. This is a deathwatch on the joint, which I don't think is long for this world.

Nearly no patrons occupied the restaurant when we dined (admittedly late, 9pm). It is a gigantic space, and was so empty it kind of seemed like an airport hangar. Indeed, while the salmon passed through a hangar on its way from the Pacific Northwest, that doesn't mean the salmon's final resting place should evoke United.

I sat down to a dirty water glass, which I had to send back. Our waiter was out of it. The flat bread, served in lieu of a bread basket, dusted with olive oil, sea salt, and rosemary, was crunchy on the outside and really soft on the inside, and performed well the function of being my appetizer, since I wasn't hungry enough, or intrigued enough by the appetizers on the menu, to order one. The problem was this: I'd heard the cured salmon platter was a great starter, but if I ordered that, what would I order for my main, since this was, afterall, a salmon joint? And alas the hostess-recommended dish, the black cod, was finito for the evening.

I ended up ordering cedar-planked salmon, which Bruni recommended. It was good. The cedar plank smells delightful, awakening your taste buds. The pinot noir morel sauce accompanying it was buttery and super rich and slightly funky from the morels. Three asparagus spears decorated the fish.

Fine. But that was $30. And that was the cheapest of the salmon options (I ordered coho, but one could request sockeye or king). I'm not n the mood to pay thirty bucks for an average-sized piece of fish with no accoutrements. Especially when I recall the $16 I paid for the supremely incredible snapper at Momofuku that came equipped with remarkable sides, assembled with mucho care. From the assemblage of my fish at Wild Salmon, I get the sense Chodorow's target audience wouldn't know a pickled ramp from an exit ramp.

Speaking of average, isn't salmon the chicken of fish? I like it, but who ever thought to build a restaurant around it?

Won't be returning, and by the empty looks of the place when I went, other patrons feel the same.

'Self-Portrait as Overbearing Mother in a Hitchcock Film'

THE NEW YORK SUN

By DARA MANDLE
August 1, 2007; Arts Section, Page 17

Given the events in the film world last week--the deaths of directors Michelangelo Antonioni and Ingmar Bergman--I thought it was appropriate that a poem of mine about movies was published.

SELF-PORTRAIT AS OVERBEARING MOTHER IN A HITCHCOCK FILM

A BOY’S BEST FRIEND IS HIS MOTHER.
—Anthony Perkins, Psycho

I don’t take tranquilizers. I endure
Janet Leigh, stunning, soaping: the whore.

Norman cared for me as for the hawks
he stuffed and hung over the hearth.

Ingrid Bergman was like a daughter—
She wouldn’t lock me in the fruit cellar—

In Notorious, a Nordic beauty
For my German son, a Nazi.

He came to me for help, she was a spy.
I knew what to do, he could be so shy.

My cigarettes, please. This is what we tried:
We poisoned her slowly, and she almost died.

Bacony Fish

Dara writes:

I have written about chef David Chang's Momofuku empire before. No surprise, I'm a fan. Just to add to the adulation, I had a chart-topping, show-stopping fish dish there tonight.

As usual, James ordered the house special Momofuku ramen, which is succulent, toothsome noodles in a porky broth with, indeed, two kinds of pork--belly and shredded--and soft-cooked egg, peas, green onion, nori, lotus root, and deliciousness. James always gets it. He's obsessed. But I ordered something new: crispy red snapper. Not usually my fave fish. Slightly funkier than bass or trout. The fish was delish, but it was the sides I died for. What graced the dish? Summer squash. I don't often love squash because it's squishy and meaty in an unpleasant way. Surprisingly, Chang's staff didn't slice the squash extra-thin. But because, like all things Chang, the veg floated in a salty, porky broth, it ruled.

Two things lifted the dish into the stratosphere: the best chunky, pancetta-y bacon ever, and pickled ramps. Now, I saw Chang's recipe for them in New York mag in May, but whatever, not something I'd make at home, so I didn't think more about it. Holy mackerel: I could make a meal of them. Imagine wilted, kim-chee-y onions. Yes please.

I should mention we started with an heirloom tomato salad with Asian vinaigrette and shiso leaf, with soft tofu. And, the kicker, we walked right into the place. Why? Three ideas: August; early; outside it was hot as hell.

Dining at Momofuku is hectic. It's loud and cramped and hot. But you get to see your dinner assembled in front of you by pros. It's like you're on the set of a cooking show. You get to listen to the Stones' Gimme Shelter and remember those violent scenes in Scorsese's Mean Streets and The Departed. And you get to have an ass-kicking, fresh fish dish for $16. Worth it.