701

I felt like an industry insider last night. I talked food, restaurants, cocktails, and the bartender confided in me, not vice versa. I got a free glass of Côtes du Rhône, a list of restaurants I need to try, and two sips of the guy to my left's cocktails, just to give them a taste. It was one of those nights I realized why I keep a food blog detailing the glories of dressing up and dining alone on Saturday nights in the first place.

I headed to 701, the 41st best restaurant in the city. It started off well: I was able to make a reservation online less than one hour in advance (in my eyes, the mark of a confident restaurant) and park less than two blocks away (and pre-paid my $3.81 for two hours of parking as yesterday I paid off parking tickets for two states). I eshewed my table reservation for the bar, as it was half empty, well-lit and friendly-looking.

I settled in with my first glass of wine and my bread. I'm starting to get the hang of professional criticism: I noticed and silently tsk-ed the sticky surface of the bar, while un-visibly nodding at the host's invitation to enjoy the dining room another time. The bar seemed more inviting than the older, heavy-on-the-wool-blazer-wearing-men crowd eating dinner at tables.

The bread was mediocre: the poor cornbread muffins were disheveled and malformed and the rolls didn't have that freshly-spun texture of good rolls, but seemed to be in the purgatory of the bread world: not too hard to be stale but not fresh enough to admit to be freshly-baked.

Next were oyster shooters, which glorified the almost-springtime night. Each shot glass had an oyster or two at the bottom, almost microscopic wedges of lime at the top and bottom, hints of lemongrass and chili, and a layer of coconut milk finishing off the top. I only take shots when they are free and I'm drunk, so I slowly extricated two disproportionate bites from each shooter. I didn't get the holistic flavor, but parsed them out and they were fresh and mostly light, with the rich coconut milk finish.

Next, I had the rock fish tartare, with a small moat of green gazpacho and jalapeno-prosecco granita on top. To me, it combined three fond food memories: my growing affection for legit tartares (I'm good with ceviche but the word tartare use to chill my bones), soothing memories of gazpacho-eating in Andalusia, and granita-drinking in Spain. Point being I appreciated the culinary liberties from different cultures taken with the dish. This is the type of nonsense I was spouting to my company, two bartenders.

Afterwards, I had the crayfish ravioli (compassionately offered in an appetizer portion) with duck prosciutto on top and a basil sauce on the bottom. This was brilliant conceptually, but the raviolis were a bit dry and cooked a bit too al dente (there was a mild but discernible crunch).

At this point, off-duty-bartender having dinner on my left and on-duty-bartender enjoying his birthday at work, and I started talking about drinks. Here, I mostly listened, but was able to taste one of 701's house cocktails, the Fig Manhattan (with fig foam and which I sampled with a straw) and another with peach schnapps and a rosemary-infused vodka. Off-duty bartender invited me to his bar (I will be going there on one of his Monday to Wednesday evenings on duty) and on-duty bartender gave me a list of bars that have both good bars and bartenders (Cafe Atlantico, Oyamel, PS7, The Passenger, and the Columbia Room).

I insisted on ordering dessert (I did only have ahem, four ravioli) and got the fried banana cheesecake. On the side, a scoop of peanut butter ice cream and on top, a bird's nest of shredded phyllo. Tri-polar like the rock fish tartare, it was Greek Festival-inspired with the phyllo, state fair-suggestive with the fried cheesecake, and Elvis-homagey with the combination of banana and peanut butter.

I reserve a small amount of derision for restaurants that don't seem creative enough to invent a name beyond its address for its title, but last night I reallocated that regret and lamented I didn't order more delicious food to enjoy.