Somewhere in the confusion of looking at a menu rife with things like deconstructed poutine with yogurt curds is an invitation to set aside preconceptions and just taste. Michael Voltaggio opened this place three years ago amid much buzz. But Ink. has earned our respect with its smooth, attentive service and Voltaggio’s unflagging dedication to originality. He corns lamb belly so it radiates a pastrami-like richness. The salt-and-charcoal-roasted potato ignites when you spritz it with black vinegar, and the house-made “Doritos”—they could pass for a vegan chicharrón—are superb. For dessert there’s burnt-wood ice cream.