[Pigging by Wilfrid: April 21, 2008]
Against so many odds, a sparkling meal.
By turns inauthentic, ersatz, pandering, nicely executed and delicious. Cast doubt aside and go. Credit to chef Andrea Berquist and her team.
It's easy to sit back in your armchair and explain to yourself why Merkato might be busy but won't be any good. Crowds? Sure, Meatpacking hell. Phoning it in? An absent star chef, Marcus Samuelsson of Aquavit; a ridiculously non-specific pan-African hodgepodge of a menu; spice heat dialed back for New York palates; a continent's cuisine tidied up and packaged as yet another fusiony gimmick.
Except this kitchen is doing really good work.
The huge, two level space, emits a low buzzing hum into the street. It gets louder as the evening progresses: upstairs, where I was, is marginally more peaceful, but conversation with the server requires much repetition. Still, by downtown standards, the racket is tolerable. The restaurant looks great - I actually liked the shiny, rough-hewn, dark planks of the tables, and - what happened? - the furniture was comfortable. Wine list and menu are clipped to boards, as is the mode. I started with a cocktail (it started with "A", but I can't spell it): a citrus vodka-based concoction in a martini glass, with a telltale red chili floating in it. It had a burn.
While the cocktail list is replete with unfamiliar liquors and cordials, the menu - as some have noticed - is surprisingly tame for a document which casts its scope across an entire continent. In fact, the cuisine here really has two (and a half) main sources. You will search vainly for Senegalese thiéboudienne; for the game dishes of South Africa; for amala or kelwele. Even the ubiquitous fufu shows up only as a side, apparently (I didn't try it) made with plantains rather than the usual cassava.
No, this is the cuisine of Ethiopia paired with the cuisine of North Africa - primarily Morocco. A somewhat random combination - as if a pan-Asian restaurant were to open serving South Indian vegetable curries and ramen. I said two and a half sources, because you could put together a pretty full Afro-Caribbean dinner here too.
Brushing aside such armchair reflections, just be sure to order the "African breads". These should accompany your kidogo choices. I almost suspect some kidology in kidogo, which is none other than the Swahili word for tapas - or small plates, or stuzzichini, or what you will. In other words, the extra section of the menu which tempts you to order an extra appetizer course.
As you should. Two types of pita are complimentary accompaniments to the kidogo plates, but you do need to try the soft, fragrant, slightly spicy meali, pretty close to cornbread, and the addictive za'atar - a sort of sour, soft-chewy, herbed bun, not dissimilar in texture to foccaccia. This is the most excited I've been about restaurant bread in a long time.
Sadly, the spicy tripe dish has revolved off the menu for the time being. A small - okay, very small - chunk of crunchily salted foie crowned a mound of dried fig chutney. And there was soothing green dip from the specials, the name of which is irrecoverable.
I moved on to a hot and fruity pinotage, Groot Constantia. As figgy as the chutney, it's not a wine I'd typically order, but I expected it to stand up well to the meaty, spicy cooking. In fact, on reflection, a Pinot Blanc or Riesling would be a wise choice.
The merguez sausages made me happy, bringing back memories of travel in Tunisia many years ago. Reddish, smoky, entirely convincing, served over so-called "corn pap" (yeah, polenta or grits) with a touch of mustard. Good to eat at the bar with a cold beer, I should think.
Another appetizer, the duck leg, had an exquisite glow to it. And for good reason: honey-glazed it claimed to be, and honey-glazed it was. A gently sweet crisp skin, making for a beautifully balanced and layered bite with the sily flesh and the contrasting sweet yellow and savory green plantain slices, maduro y verde.
I've been unable to discover the meaning of "malata" in the grilled tuna dish of that name, but smartly seared and steak-ish tuna was involved, some cockles on the side, grated coconut sweetening the dish.
The guinea-hen with preserved lemons had strongly tempted me - a tagine, I'd guessed - but the larder was bare. A goat special, then, described as "maffe" - and from my researches, therefore arguably an entry from Gambia or the Congo. Anyway, a stew with a sauce thickened with groundnuts (more likely peanuts), and in this version mildly spicy. Fragrant long grain rice, and that crucial African legume, okra; surprisingly al dente - but that worked with the melting goatmeat - and boasting its distinctive slipperiness, not loved by all but enhancing the mouthfeel of the sauce.
The goat itself was buttery and bone and gristle free, but thankfully not reduced to a few lean, bland cubes of any-loin. Pieces from interesting cuts were here - shoulder? - replete with streaks of delectable fat.
Dessert was a quiet curtain-closer after these rich delights. I'm sure I recognized the same cornbread mix from the earlier breadbasket, now making like a pudding under a globe of vanilla ice-cream - and after all the curious flavors on the cocktail list, vanilla is terribly anti-climactic - and a few bits of pineapple, or whatever, to sweeten it up.
Never mind. Overall impressive, and it's so refreshing to have expectations surpassed. I don't know if anything is quite worth the reeling crowds, the chilling glow of the Apple Store, the sense of smugness which suddenly descended to undeservedly on this once humble and beautiful quartier. But come in the right mood or at the right time for unusual and very good cooking.
The Merkato web-site is so feebly under construction I refuse to link to it.
