Food Whore by Jessica Tom Page B

ser­vice and toward the final judgment. Everything was out of our hands.
    But I didn’t let on. To the extent that I could—­which wasn’t very much—­I tried to make up wherever the ser­vice was lacking. I grinned extra wide. I took the hands of ­people who wanted to be touched and demurred respectfully from the ones who preferred to be left alone. I did my small part so I didn’t have to see the restaurant slide so slipshod. But even I knew it was too little, too late.
    I left at eleven and walked slowly back to the apartment. It was the perfect fall night: air that refreshed, leaves that lullabied, weather in which everyone was comfortable. Except me. I didn’t know what the review would say, but I knew what I had done and said. I couldn’t take it back. All I could do was wait and see, just like everyone else.
    Emerald and Melinda weren’t home, to my relief. I opened my laptop and saw an email from Carey, subject line: SHIT .
    I clicked the link to nytimes.com and read.
    Famous Farmhouse Goes to Pasture
    by MICHAEL SALTZ
    If you are in possession of a coatrack, you might want to give it to Madison Park Tavern. The Flatiron mainstay is in need of a fresh concept and a place to hang its hat.
    When my predecessor reviewed this restaurant four years ago, the establishment had a dynamite idea. The brash young chef Anthony Tate had the groundbreaking insight to use fresh, local produce in his cooking. He wouldn’t veil these ingredients with words like “rustic” or “home-­style.” The menu put no qualifications around its products and made no apologies for serving them in a high-­end atmosphere. The idea spread through Manhattan like organic dandelion greens, and soon our fair city of asphalt and car exhaust turned a little bit country.
    But that was four years, and four stars, ago. The Madison Park Tavern of today has a new chef, Matthew Darling, formerly of Vrai, and the idea of “local ingredients” can no longer carry a restaurant. What was so revolutionary about Madison Park Tavern yesterday is a given today, if not a total cliché. There are a host of innovative restaurants—­Bakushan, Alltop Peaks, Yop Factory—­that use local, fresh ingredients, employing them with abandon and excitement, not reverent tiptoeing.
    Indeed, there are some lovely, delicious moments at Darling’s Madison Park Tavern. One night, I had a delightful amuse-­bouche of edamame puree, clementines, and endives. It took my breath away with its notes of bright and bitter, soulful and singing. This is daring food that transcends seasons, something that comes all too infrequently. Matthew Darling has a very popular, very seasonal restaurant to lose, so transgressions are relegated to one bite. Most dishes seem to beat you over the head with their capital-­C Concept. Even the dining room could double as a movie set for a “market-­to-­table restaurant,” so obvious, so caricature-­like is its premise.
    I liked the roast chicken with potatoes six ways, a clever way to dress up a classic. While the potato morphs in every which rich, fried, and gratinéed way, the chicken works its own special magic. Chew carefully and you will taste a slight herbaciousness in the meat. This is a chicken who has eaten well, and here the tranquility of the farm is spun into fireworks on the plate. The rabbit cassoulet approaches the tongue with unexpected freshness. It is not the familiar mush, but another toothsome thing.
    Yet much of the menu ranges from not-­so-­bad to what’s the point? The pork loin with ras el hanout, a special one night, was alarmingly off-­balance. The spices wicked the moisture out of my mouth, and imparted little of their beautiful bouquet of flavor.
    Yet the biggest slight of all is the short-rib dish. Short ribs have always been a standard at Madison Park Tavern, ever since the days of Anthony Tate. But