No. 7
Contact Info:
Address: 7 Greene Ave (Cumberland St)
City: Brooklyn, NY
Zip: 11238
map: View the Map
Phone: (718) 522-6372
Food Info:
Menu: View the Menu
Chef:
Tyler Kord
Cuisine:
American
2nd Cuisine:
European
Cititour Review:
It’s rare to emerge from the dark cold depths of the subway and come face to face with a welcoming oasis like No. 7, a new restaurant in Fort Greene that is perched over the C train exit at Lafayette and Greene. But that’s what residents of Ft. Greene have come to be used to on the bookends of their subway commute: with the soft glow of old-fashioned globe streetlamp lighting, the long beckoning wood bar lit with deco fixtures that gives the room an air of cigars and centuries past, a spacious lounge in the windowed façade that allows for easy gathering, and the black and white marble tiled floors that lead past a modest open kitchen to a vaulted minimalist dining room filled with smooth black table tops and upholstered banquettes. Indeed, from the outside, No. 7 feels like a restaurant you want to dine in (or at least have a pint or a cocktail in) every night of the week. Unfortunately, the act of eating there may change your mind. It changed ours.
Craig was waiting for me at the bar the night we decided to follow the advice of The New Yorker and The New York Times (who had generously praised the place) and have dinner at No. 7. Apparently, the bartender was having a bad day (or she’s just always unpleasant). She was unfriendly, unsmiling and seemed utterly bothered by the fact that she had to pour him a beer. Not a good way to win customers. In such a friendly looking bar to have such an grudging, uptight bartender isn’t really going to work.
Speaking of the bar, there’s a nice selection of local brews (one called the Hop Obama from Six Points was sadly but understandably sold out), and the wine list is gently priced, with glasses ranging from $7-$10. But you’ll only find wines from Italy, Chile, France and the New World. But what of New York State? Finger Lakes? South Fork? North Fork? I was disappointed. My request for a “mocktail” was returned with a “we have coke or diet coke.” Hmm. This is a neighborhood where women are always pushing out babies. Have a mocktail for the moms to be or someone who’s just trying to cut back on the booze. The bar program needs some attention.
The restaurant is owned by a pair of first time restaurateurs, Weather Up designer Matthew Maddy, and Lil' Frankie’s GM Matt Suchomski, who brought in chef Tyler Kord, an alumnus of the Jean-Georges empire and most recently sous-chef at Perry Street. His pedigree shows in the food, which is for the most part well prepared, but his menu, a globetrotting affair (he has called it “New American, with a little Hungarian, some Korean, and a bit of Wisconsin thrown in”) lacks a cohesive vision. It includes such far-flung dishes as seared tuna with Korean pear, jalapeno and basil ($10), roasted cold pork with arugula and poached egg ($8), and hanger steak with kimchi dumplings ($10). It’s a bit all over the place, and it’s also quite brief, with just five appetizers and five entrees, and no sides. (The original menu had just four apps and five entrees.) This sort of pared down menu may work well for restaurants like Jean-Georges, but a menu this succinct is not built for a neighborhood clientele that might want to visit once a week. Regulars need more variety.
But the vision and the brevity didn’t really bother me as much as the lack of alliance between the décor and the food. No. 7 reads from the outside like a casual, convivial joint where you might sink into a good burger, roast chicken, braised short ribs, or a big salad. In design, it feels like a gastro-pub or some rendering of The Spotted Pig, Back Forty or Freeman’s—an accessible farm-to-table joint. But perhaps owing to his haute culinary background, Kord has other ideas. He’s cooking precise and almost fussy food, in pristine and minimalist portions that seem as though they belong in an elegant white tablecloth midtown restaurant (or perhaps back at Perry Street), not in what is essentially a restaurant and pub in Ft. Greene. Kord might take a moment to visit Josh Eden, a decade-long veteran of the JGV empire who has seamlessly transferred his impeccable training into Shorty’s 32, a terrific casual neighborhood restaurant with a menu that matches the vibe—hearty, welcoming and accessible.
But Kord seems to still be cooking at Perry Street. For instance, a tomato, lentil and smoked bacon soup is accompanied by three little bowls of garnish (none of which were explained by the runner or server) that contained cilantro, croutons and some sort of fresh cheese and diced apple mixture. This was a rather ornate presentation for a bowl of soup, one that was pureed within an inch of its life, transformed from soup to barbecue sauce. It tasted more like a sweet-smoky glaze that might be basted on meat than what I was hoping for on a cold winter night—a hearty bowl of soup, with tomatoes, lentils and bacon that I could actually discern.
A dish of fried broccoli with black beans and grapefruit ($7) sounded intriguing in theory, but in practice, the pieces don’t come together. I quite liked the fried broccoli part—a large head of green filled in its nook and crannies with cheese and then battered up tempura style and served hot and crispy on salty black bean puree. It’s accompanied by a green salad topped with grapefruit, and the two components of this dish don’t seem to have any common ground. Why are you serving a side of green salad with tempura? Just curious? I’d have preferred a bowl of the broccoli perhaps with two sauces: one black bean (adjusted for seasoning) and perhaps another that reflects the citrus notes in grapefruit-chile sauce. The salad topped with one solitary supreme of grapefruit was just an awkward garnish on an otherwise inventive and mostly pleasing dish.
Roast chicken with Brussels sprouts, carrot puree and truffle jus ($17) sounded more promising, as did the grouper with Israeli cous cous and Meyer lemon ($19), but once again, we were served needlessly deconstructed overly cerebral food. The chicken is not a half or quartered roasted chicken as I expected. Instead, Kord is serving chicken roulade made from white and dark meat, breaded and pan fried and sliced up in silver dollar coins served justified right on the plate. Way on the left side of the plate you’ll find a stripe of carrot puree punctuated by a neat row of roasted Brussels sprouts. Truffle jus is poured tableside from a random aluminum teapot. All together, it looked like a Jackson Pollack painting. As far as taste, it was good—the chicken was cooked beautifully—but what I was craving was a simple roast chicken, not a delicate roulade on a painter’s palate of purees. Clearly Kord can cook, but my point is he’s not cooking for this neighborhood or for this restaurant.
Ditto the grouper ($19). A beautiful meaty and moist grilled filet rests on a bed of Israeli cous cous. As is his style, the fish and cous cous are plated way over on their side of the plate, while a Meyer lemon puree in three fat creamy dots decorated the far side. To merge these two flavors was an exhausting exercise.
Interestingly, with all this intricately plated rather highbrow food coming from the kitchen, the service is very much diner style. There’s little table maintenance or attention from the staff. Silverware is not changed between appetizer and entrée courses. Instead, your fork and knife will be removed from your appetizer plate and then placed, still dirty, back on the tabletop. Come on, if you’re gonna serve me a chicken roulade you can spare a couple of clean forks and knives with which to eat it.
Tables are also left in a disarray, piled with breadcrumbs and left messy between dinner and dessert. Again, the concept presents an incongruous vision. Are you a casual pub, as the décor and service seem to suggest? Or are you a more serious restaurant as the food appears on the plate? Make up your mind and carry your vision through from greeting through dinner to departure.
When dessert came around, I was craving something apple, and we were happy to find an apple tart on the menu. I was thrilled, but quickly disappointed. What arrived was a tart the size and shape of a deck of cards: a homemade graham cracker topped with several pale slices of apple, a shower of walnuts and a drizzle of caramel. One slice into it, and the dry cracker broke into crumbs and shards that flew all over the table (and me). How is one supposed to eat this “tart?” That’s not a tart. It was like an take on apple s’mores, without the campfire. Pastry chef Amanda Clark is also an alumnus of Perry Street. I should have known. She’s still cooking for the wrong restaurant, too. At this point, I was done.
If I sound a bit underwhelmed and perplexed by No. 7, I guess I am. It’s not that the chef can’t cook, he sure can. But for me, there’s more to opening a restaurant than putting food on the table. The concept needs to be thought through and the elements need to match up: design, vibe, menu, and service should all speak the same language. At No. 7, it seems each element is speaking in tongues. This means highbrow Perry Street-styled food in a casual, neighborhood pub setting with at times unfriendly and at other times slacker service. If this is what you’re after, you’ll want to make a point to visit to No. 7. But as for me, walking by the warm glow of their round street lamps is going to be quite easy.
Review By: Andrea Strong
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