A Chef Getting Fried in A Food Review

...a few dishes in the pasta section — specifically the gnudi and the gnocchi — suffer from Mr. Thompson’s sometimes reckless hand with butter.

He doesn’t grasp the nuances of excess as well as a Mario Batali or a Michael White — doesn’t fully understand what’s splendid decadence and what’s just overkill.

In general he’s indiscreet with salt, though you never know. During one meal, a side of crispy potatoes had just the right amount of it, while the similarly crispy potatoes alongside juicy slices of hanger steak were so salty they had me lunging for my water glass.

The seasoning of some other dishes was also out of whack. Citrusy notes came on too strong in both sea scallop crudo and escolar ceviche. An entree of grilled quail had been splashed with an oppressive measure of red-wine vinegar.

There were dishes that read more intriguing than they tasted. Oxtail calzone? It was like an elongated pot pie on a sludgy swish of béchamel. Wagyu tongue with cabbage and rye? A messy Jewish-deli mishap.


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