Bar Tonno
For starters, the long, narrow room and even narrower bar that runs the length of Bar Tonno ("tuna" in Italian), as far as I can tell, remain unaltered. There are still no tables for the capacity crowd of 30; diners sit on high chairs sipping wine. And the bartenders/waiters-who are interchangeable-still look startlingly short behind the bar, which must come up to their sternums. But touches that once read as thoughtful, like the hooks under the bar for ladies to hang their purses, become inadequate gestures now that the affordable wine bar is a none-too-cheap restaurant. "I couldn't be more uncomfortable," said my six-foot-tall sister as we sat with our knees jammed into the bar.
A less tangible element that persists is an air of metrosexual seduction that hangs about the place; it does not translate well from bar to dining room. What seemed stylish in a bar imparts a thin residue of sleaze to a restaurant. The same dim lighting, for instance, or the prominently displayed wine collection, and what I believe are some new decorative flourishes-a metal beaded curtain, an exotic fish tank-foster a bachelor-pad vibe that, while welcome at Bar Veloce, does not befit a restaurant.
Bar Tonno's existence is validated by its crudo, which is ostensibly fish carpaccio enhanced tremendously by the use of sublime olive oils, sea salts and fine emulsions. Although the quality of Bar Tonno's fish rivals that of the city's best sushi, I found it takes practice to adapt to the ritual of eating raw fish, European-style. When our first crudo, a mild, translucent sliced fluke dotted with citrus and crushed pepper ($12), was set down before us, I fumbled blindly for a pair of chopsticks that wasn't there, and stopped just short of making the faux pas of asking for one. Though Bar Tonno offers an ample wine list, it seemed natural to order sake. We enjoyed the fragrant Jun Mai Take No Tsuyu from Yamagata ($10) and a smooth Jun Mai Ginjo Shimeharitsuru Jun from Nigata ($12). Raw bar, live fish tank, sake-it's a hard troika to break.
The raw selections included two wildly different varieties of oyster ($2.80 each). While the sweeter, more buttery California Kumamotos were more to my taste, the aggressive Stellar Bays from British Columbia are the ones I will remember. The flavor seemed to punch me from inside my mouth, producing an uncanny sense of the ocean (one tasted just like Martha's Vineyard). Pleasure was also to be found in the cooked. While I have never eaten at L'Impero, the highly praised Italian restaurant where Bar Tonno chef Scott Conant made his name, I got a sense of the chef's skills from one of the sole non-raw items on the small menu. A simple yet magnificent stewed octopus with wedges of pizza bianca ($8) was a bowl of supple octopus curls in an olive-oil-scented, tomato-based sauce that sang.
If the evening's lead was raw fish, sea salt was the guest star. Scoff all you want at designer salt, but several varieties are used at Bar Tonno to good, if not excellent effect. Big crunches of salt added surprises of texture and flavor to the exceptional Kanpachi, an unctuous member of the yellow-tail family that was paired deliciously with shallots and grassy ginger oil ($12). The more fibrous tuna, served with a Mediterranean garnish of diced cucumber and tomato plus a tangy emulsion ($14), was the beneficiary of pink Hawaiian sea salt. It turns out that no fewer than 12 sea salts are in rotation here, featuring French, English, Hawaiian, Danish, South African, pink, black, chunky, fine, smoked and not-smoked varieties.
Not so sexy was the micro green salad with sherry vinegar dressing and pickled vegetables ($7)-which just meant overly acidic radish slices and pickled chanterelles, a waste of good mushrooms that ended up tasting canned. Dessert was an even greater letdown. Sesame cannoli with orange mascarpone cream, strawberries and balsamic vinegar ($6), which appears to be carryover from L'Impero, looked better on paper. The cannoli shell amounted to nothing more than a crumbly tuile that paired unremarkably with a featureless cream filling. The strawberries were the quality of corner deli fruit, and the balsamic vinegar took the form of a tarry reduced sauce that dotted the plate. Complimentary treats of champagne cocktails with apple and ginger juice and fresh chocolate truffles were both worth savoring, and helped win back my favor.