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A steel-gray winter Saturday in New York—and the Village appears
deserted, all its well-heeled denizens off to St. Barts, or Turks &
Caicos. The Hudson looks threatening. And for a moment, you might
wish that you too were elsewhere—but then you step across the
threshold into Perry Street, Jean-George’s latest culinary
sanctuary.
Located at the base of
the second of the three Richard Meier glass towers which front the
Hudson, Perry Street has the serenity and calm more often associated
with an executive dining club. You almost expect to see Bill Paley
and his wife Babe nestled quietly at a corner table, perusing the
Sunday Times. The room is a bastion of cool minimalism, very
nearly an homage to Philip Johnson’s Glass House. The music is low;
the shades are partially drawn; the lighting is flattering. Without
realizing, you’re speaking in the same hushed tones it seems
everyone else is using.
Service is light-footed and attentive—starting with an amuse
gueule: a demi-tasse of truffled cauliflower soup. This
is brunch—two courses for $24, followed by dessert—and the menu
reflects perfectly the way one wants to eat on a chilly January
weekend. The choices are imaginative and well-considered: sesame
pancakes, as fluffy as a light omelette, and a luscious Boston
lettuce and poached egg salad dressed with a sherry-walnut
vinaigrette. There’s also a sublime king oyster mushroom carpaccio,
layered with avocado and drizzled with a jalapeno and lime coulis—and
the resultant textures, combined with the bite of the pepper, create
a palate sensation. A barley risotto is perfect winter comfort
food—rich and indulgent. The coffee is strong and flavorful. And for
dessert, there’s a molten chocolate cake—or an angel food served
with grapefruit. Angel or devil, your choice. But there’s no
question that at Perry Street, you’ve found a bit of heaven in New
York.
Best always,
Mark and Robert
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