Viet Bland

"You are usually the restaurant-trashing queen."

Wow. Coming from my friend the fellow restaurant critic, the remark was intended as a compliment. But such vinegary praise to a guilt-prone Jewish girl whose job is to unapologetically rate the work of others came as bittersweet medicine. Am I that mean? I wondered briefly before I discarded the thought into my "don't be ridiculous" pile of self-criticism.

Don't worry. I'm not going to repent for all of the meals I've rightfully disliked. When the food is no good, it doesn't matter how much I batter myself with thoughts of a kitchen doing its best. Taste trumps all in this space, with a nod to good intentions (and a slap on the wrist to shady ones). As nice as a waitress might seem, as earnest as the efforts of the establishment appear, my heart hardens when I recount the sad little dishes they put forth. In the end, my internal bouts of self-doubt never make it to the page. The restaurant critic's job is to mete out frank appraisal, something that, according to my weathered friend, I have no problem doing.

So it's with great sadness that I begin the new year by reporting on yet another woefully bland restaurant. The other night, the stretch of Greenwich St. on which VietCafe is located was a prime contender for the city's most happening restaurant block. A stroll on a particularly mild Wednesday evening revealed restaurants-the Harrison, Tribeca Grill, Yaffa's, Dominic, Gigino-that were lively and full, and enough pedestrian traffic to suggest near-peak outdoor- dining season.

VietCafe was the one empty restaurant on the block, a reality that, even after having eaten there, I still attribute to the fact that it had only been open three weeks at the time of our visit. It is without difficulty that one can imagine an artsy Tribeca crowd filling this lofty, design-friendly space. The various works of art thoughtfully placed on the walls, particularly the billboard-style painting of a pretty Vietnamese girl, the oversized silk lanterns, and theatrical open kitchen with adjacent sushi-bar-style seating were reminders that the restaurant was started by the owner of Gallery Viet Nam next door.

I waited for my friends at the bar, crunched the house-made shrimp chips, which I love, and allowed my gaze to drift from the broad, heavy bar near the door to the small, building-block-like dining tables that recede to the far wall. I was struck by the odd sense of perspective. The furniture not only looks like it gets smaller-it is. A high communal table in the front of the house is replaced by low wooden tables and skinny benches in the back. The undersized seating seems to have been designed to accommodate not American but Vietnamese booties, and was a killer for two friends who were nursing bad backs. Getting up to use the bathroom required strenuous effort: enlisting seated parties to stand up or scoot back, or challenging the person to acrobatically extricate himself from the bench. This demanded the flexibility of one who could gracefully pull a knee to the chest and throw it over the other side of the bench without bumping the dinner table. It was a testament to my party's good humor that we managed to enjoy one another's company under such circumstances.

One of the promises of VietCafe was its reasonably priced menu. Though prices skyrocket to the high teens and low twenties with the meat-centered dinner entrees, there are quite a few options that cost less than $10. The problem with cut-above Vietnamese restaurants, as I noticed at Hue and Boi, which both opened last year, is that more often than not the higher prices and fancier articulations of menu items do not translate to food that is better than, say, a meal at a grubbier mom-and-pop Vietnamese.

We sampled a few standards-namely fresh summer rolls, pho bo, green papaya and beef salad-as well as several more inventive items that reflect the personality of VietCafe, which touts itself as a purveyor of authentic North, South and Central Vietnamese cuisine. The summer roll, served classically with cold poached shrimp, rice noodles, mint, lettuce and peanut sauce ($6) was literally a bust. The rice wrapper was so stiff that the rolls split on contact, spraying a confetti of noodles and shredded lettuce onto the dinner plate.

The pho bo, traditional Vietnamese beef soup with rice noodles and sliced beef, got the thumbs-up from my sister, who thought the broth good and fragrant ($9). I found the broth a bit rich, and while the beef was good quality, the dish was flimsy overall. To the embarrassment of the table, the soup was served with a pitifully small plate of bean sprouts and Vietnamese basil, accompanied by a wedge of lemon instead of the customary lime. The appetizer that came out unequivocally on top was the beef salad ($7), tender cuts of marinated beef on a zesty mixture of cilantro, mint, basil and watercress.

The steamed jicama rolls with sweet sausage, peanuts, and egg ($6) and the grilled marinated chicken and cabbage salad with cilantro and roasted sesame dressing recommended by our waitress ($6), both turned out to be uniquely awkward. The jicama rolls, as good as they sounded, were nearly flavorless, save their boozy hoisin and chili sauce. The salad was a fresh but unremarkable mix of raw shredded cabbage and grilled chicken in a thin acidic dressing. In the strangest flavor sensation of the evening, the cabbage had the same bitter rubbery flavor one tastes after blowing up balloons.

Our main courses were more mixed bags. Taking a cue from their French influences, the beefsteak, Vietnamese steak frites ($18), featured nice, buttery beef in a sweet glaze, served on a bed of french fries that are purportedly hand cut, but had the pale, cottony quality of the frozen variety. The most solid choice was the roasted duck with five spices, nuoc mam (fermented fish sauce) glaze and a side of ginger sauce ($24), a straightforward preparation of sliced duck with a well-seasoned crispy skin. The caramelized salmon with ginger, galangal and scallions ($20) was disappointing. Though ceremoniously served in a covered clay pot, the fish was not remotely caramelized; rather, it was poached in its own steam (and still somehow dry and flakey).

I regret not having tried any of the various Vietnamese sandwiches, which were not listed on the dinner menu. Options like pork, garlic and chicken-liver pate on a crispy baguette seem like possible sources of redemption.

The table unanimously agreed that the desserts were of a high caliber not witnessed earlier in the meal. My favorite was the banana flan with Vietnamese coffee syrup ($4), a wholesome dessert that tasted of barely ripe bananas. Coconut and black sesame custard with blood orange sorbet was another sophisticated dessert, although the pine nuts hidden in the sorbet tasted rancid. A third, warm Vietnamese coffee cream and date pudding was not the best sticky pudding I've had-Boi's and Moto's are better-but not a crumb was left on the plate.

"Why don't we eliminate the appetizer and main course and have it be a dessert bar?" suggested my friend Farah. But then again, she can be so mean.