Who You Callin' Healthy?
Say the words "organic," "vegetarian" or "vegan," and people often assume they are synonyms for "healthy." In many cases, this couldn't be further from the truth. At Foodswings, a vegan cafe in Williamsburg, I had one of the most gleefully deep-fried and unhealthy meals of the New Year: soy-cheese fries with unambiguously caloric Buffalo "chicken" wings. Or think of the mock meat at the vegetarian restaurant, Zen Palate. Without a doubt, the most popular dish is the Sweet and Sour Sensation, batter-fried gluten nuggets in viscous traffic-cone-orange sauce.
If you are of the mind that organic is just purist nonsense, you still might enjoy a dinner at Onju, a new Italian restaurant in the East Village that utilizes all organic ingredients while avoiding a "health" agenda (note the intervals at which staff members huff cigarettes outside and you'll see what I mean). At first glance, Onju is just another sexy East Village Italian boite (think Lavagna) with exposed brick walls, picture windows, a knobby wood bar and tight banquettes that draws the neighborhood's greasy-haired brand of beautiful people. With the exception of accoutrements like "tofu cream" served with chanterelle ravioli and two varieties of gnocchi, there is nothing ostensibly crunchy about the place. Though vegans and vegetarians can eat heartily here, there is enough meat, cheese and butter on the menu to compensate.
Two appetizers we sampled aptly captured both ends of the "organic food" spectrum. The carrot salad ($11) consisted of largely ungarnished carrots served three ways: julienned yellow and orange carrots in a fresh honey-lemon dressing, halved purple-carrot coins, raw, balanced so they stood vertically on the plate, and parboiled spikes of yellow and orange carrot, also undressed. Though pricey for a salad that consisted of mostly plain root vegetables, the dish was also the one that showed, most nakedly, the power of fine produce. Between the presentation and the earthy, warm flavor of the carrots themselves, the dish was a thing of modest beauty.
At the very same restaurant, we enjoyed festive, indulgent arancini, fried balls of rice served two ways. The more traditional variety, filled with fresh mozzarella and shaved truffles, was nice but somewhat bland. The star was the saffron and beef arancino, a golden orb of saffron-scented rice with a pinch of ground beef in the center. The crisp exterior tasted less like it had been fried, and more like the crusty bottom layer of Persian rice or bi bim bop. I could have eaten three or four.
Following the appetizers, our experience began to devolve: At least one hour elapsed between the first course and the entrees. Taking into account that the dishes are made to order-risotto can take twenty minutes, according to the proprietor-still did not excuse the negligence. As my companions and I sat with our hands in our laps, peering around the deafeningly loud restaurant, we noticed that the staff at Onju (with the exception of our solicitous, over-tasked waitress), whooping it up at the bar, seemed to be having a lot more fun than we were. "Have you noticed that everyone working here is drunk?" asked my cousin Naomi, a second-year student at NYU who, one would imagine, knows of what she speaks.
Judging from our entrees, there is potential for the food here to soar. Right now, the merits of Onju are limited to a few standout dishes. The port wine and short rib risotto ($20) was the best risotto of my New York eating career. The unadorned heap of brown-tinted rice boasted a wonderfully low ratio of grains to shredded meat. The short ribs, marinated for 48 hours in Chianti, added to the winy resonance of the dish, which was perfectly balanced between the richness of beef and butter and the vaporous nature of the alcohol.
Not as delicious but a feast for the eyes was the seafood risotto ($20), heaped with attractive shrimp, scallops, baby squid and calamari. The risotto itself was basic, not overly rich-Onju displays wise restraint when it comes to fattening up risotto-wonderfully al dente, and redolent of a mysterious smoky flavor (Onju does not have a wood-burning oven). The Cornish hen special ($23) was also solid: a flavorful bird, almost entirely deboned, baked until crisp but juicy, served with competent but uneventful green beans and brussels sprouts.
The two duds of the evening were, in turns, bland and bizarre. The tagliolini Bolognese ($18) was a mixture of fine house-made pasta with remarkably flavorless Bolognese sauce-made here with sofrito, tomato sauce and ground beef. Thanks to the obscure ingredient "fennel pollen," fava bean gnocchi ($19) that might have otherwise been palatable just tasted strange. (If you've ever had medicinal teas, try to imagine that somewhat sweet, herbal, licorice-like flavor, and you'll know what I mean.) Also peculiar were the organic wines. After tasting several of them, we went with the Villa Conversino from Italy ($31), which, in truth, was chosen on the merits of being the least harsh of the wines-all notably tangy or bitter-in the $30 price range.
In line with the meal itself, desserts leaned toward the rustic-a lightly sweetened ricotta cheesecake ($9) with figs in wine reduction was the favorite of the table, although my friends had no difficulty devouring the chocolate cannelloni ($9), arborio rice pudding made with Green & Black organic chocolate, wrapped in a crepe-like pastry and served with chocolate- coconut ice cream.
To its credit, Onju introduces the correct idea that organic and indulgent can and should coexist. But the lapse in service significantly cut into our enjoyment of the meal. Onju needs to get its act together. As one might tell a gifted but lazy student, if the priority at Onju is socializing, the restaurant will never achieve its full potential.