Tailor

Pork belly with butterscotch miso

Photo: Jeff Gurwin

Eben Freeman’s violet-fizz cocktail

Photo: Jeff Gurwin

New York, America’s restaurant leader, sits well behind Chicago when it comes to the trendy science-fiction cooking commonly referred to as molecular gastronomy (though its practitioners generally despise the term, preferring experimental cuisine). Wylie Dufresne of wd-50 is the best-known local adherent, along with his pastry chef, Alex Stupak (formerly of Chicago pioneer Alinea), and the nomadic Will Goldfarb (Room 4 Dessert). Now, Sam Mason, once Dufresne’s pastry chef, joins the ranks as one of the city’s few “don’t call it molecular gastronomy” chef-restaurateurs at his stylish, signless Soho spot, Tailor.

Be warned: Compared with the college-level chemistry lessons of wd-50, Tailor, which focuses on dessert and cocktails, is a high-school overview; Mason proves less beholden to the science of food, and more interested in the juxtaposition of unlikely flavors. In an improbable twist, the true wow moments come not from the food but from the dazzling cocktail list, which is full of one-of-a-kind molecular mixology potables.

Bar master Eben Freeman, another wd-50 alum, holds court in Tailor’s dark basement cocktail lounge, where he smokes humble Coca-Cola and mixes it with bourbon, and creates quaffable anomalies like pumpernickel raisin Scotch and dandelion Cointreau. While none of the ingredients in his excellent violet fizz are that bizarre (gin, citrus, cream, egg whites, violet liqueur), the result is striking: The concoction resembles an egg cream in look and carbonation, with a sweet-sour balance and floral bouquet appropriate for the meal. Even the duds—a vodka sour mixed with Freeman’s own bubble-gum-flavored cordial smelled uncannily like the drink’s namesake, Bazooka; and the Crumble, a French toast-like mix of butter rum, pink clove and cider—are fun to try.

That’s true of the food, too, which is served à la carte and in a rotating themed tasting menu—“cocoa” on one of our visits. Though the selections are divided into “salty” and “sweet” categories, the menu’s not all that different from a conventional restaurant’s—the appetizers and entrées are savories, and the finales are desserts.

Sous vide appears to be Mason’s technique of choice; he prepares numerous items with a Cryovac and a thermal immersion circulator, two of the tools (as well as liquid nitrogen, another Mason staple) that are de rigueur among the experimental-chef set. A silken “poached” arctic char exceptionally combines four disparate accompaniments—a sauce of sweet passion-fruit essence, vivid dried coconut slices, tart lime-pickle spaetzle and skunky mushrooms. But Mason’s cooking is most successful when he complements, rather than contrasts. Seared pork belly seamlessly matches rich butterscotch infused with white miso; in a more questionable experiement, foie gras and peanut butter are married in an intriguing, yet off-puttingly unctuous pâté.

Experimentation comes at a price: Peekytoe crab, with pineapple and basil, had a rank smell and a matted consistency. Duck tartare is actually slow-cooked, then seared, but still recalled the filling of a mediocre dumpling.

Ironically, the menu’s sweet half impressed me least, owing mostly to flavor clashes. Would a dollop of mustard mesh atop a banana? Well, neither did the Dijon-tinged mustard ice cream with a rum-braised banana. Ditto a thin tart with bitter, dehydrated grapefruit, and edamame ice cream bridged by pungent cilantro—the cream and citrus basically curdled in my mouth.Then again, some say the point of molecular gastronomy is to make the diner think. For that reason alone, I’d eat here occasionally—but I’d rather be drinking.