This onetime roaming pop-up blossomed into a spartan brick-and-mortar in a once-desolate section of downtown. Ari Taymor's subdued, naturalistic tasting menus have grown in ambition as well. Earthenware plates of ruby-colored ocean trout crowned with roe resemble comely baubles, while a palate-cleansing saucer of geranium sorbet with lemon foam tastes like a distillation of spring itself. Dishes like the seared wagyu with roasted turnips indicate that Taymor's ingredient-obsessed approach is reaching its creative zenith.
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After headlining a run of pop-ups, 27-year-old Ari Taymor claimed a former kabob spot on the raggedy end of Broadway, a burlap bag doubling as signage and window dressing. The prices are modest; the curiosity is rampant. Corn and bacon beignets are jolted by a salt of burned citrus peel. Spatula-flattened roasted fingerlings are just right for heaping with smoked onion crème fraîche and sustainable caviar (a mere $6). Taymor is ever ready to whip things into a foam, but he's also comfortable letting us appreciate the miracle of small things: the way house-cultured butter complements warm miso-buckwheat rolls or a brown butter hollandaise enriches braised grass-fed beef. Just hope that he's offering black sesame panna cotta with smoked date on the night you go. Pop-ups are great, but balancing inspiration with consistency and routine—these are the quiet changes that occur when a chef signs a lease.