Allen & Delancey

Pork “toast” with deviled eggs; Photographs: Lizz Kuehl

Pork “toast” with deviled eggs; Photographs: Lizz Kuehl731.eo.rev.ad.01.jpg505681
Strip loin with panzanella731.eo.rev.ad.02.jpg505692
731.eo.rev.ad.03.jpg505703
731.eo.rev.ad.04.jpg505714
731.eo.rev.ad.05.jpg505725

PreviousNext

Pork “toast” with deviled eggs; Photographs: Lizz Kuehl

Shooting star Ryan Skeen changes restaurants as fast he stockpiles raves. The chef jumped ship from Resto, his first high-profile gig, the minute praise began pouring in. While his food racked up further accolades at Irving Mill—Skeen’s next, much larger locale—he lasted barely five minutes there. This summer, the peripatetic young whiz popped up downtown at Allen & Delancey.

The restaurant, which opened a new fine-dining frontier on the Lower East Side in 2006, has had as much trouble holding on to a chef as Skeen has had staying satisfied. Perhaps the only thing that’s kept the place going since Neil Ferguson (chef No. 2) skipped out last year is the venue’s enticing boudoir decor. The Victorian dining room-—featuring candelabra-lit nooks hidden behind tall velvet curtains—is still among the most romantic in town, but Allen & Delancey was just limping along before the new chef arrived. In fact, the owners filed for Chapter 11 shortly after announcing the kitchen’s fresh blood. But if Skeen sticks around long enough, he may turn out to be the savior they need. This rapidly maturing talent—his food here is far and away his most impressive to date—might soon put him in the ranks of the best cooks in New York.

Skeen, who at earlier posts ran too gleefully with the flavor-of-the-moment nose-to-tail set, has reached a new pinnacle of upscale restraint. His menu is a model of studied concision that doesn’t fetishize offal or pork, nor pander to the new burger, hot-dog and fried-chicken fiends. The well-rounded document offers an old-fashioned fine-dining experience, with a short, urbane list of starters and entrées covering just enough territory to satisfy, within reason, every mood and constituency.

This is serious food—as ambitious and accomplished as Ferguson’s work here—so precise, Skeen could never have pulled it off on a larger, more populist stage. The chef likes to play with extremes of temperature and texture but does so without resorting to molecular trickery. Instead, he relies on the hardest trick of all—perfect timing. In many cases, just 30 extra seconds under the hot lamp would sell his food short. Even a simple bar snack—deviled eggs on pork “toast”—needs to reach your fingers minutes after assembly, lest the piping-hot pedestals of deep-fried breaded pork jowl wilt the cool, creamy caviar-crowned eggs sitting on top.

That same feat of hot-cold sleight of hand brings crisp-skinned cubes of tender lamb belly—cured for a day and then seared—into beautiful harmony with Bibb lettuce hearts, grapefruit segments and goat cheese. And every second counts with his pork sugo pappardelle. The contrast between the rich kale-flecked sauce (slow-cooked for ten hours) and chilled burrata—dolloped on top as the bowl heads out the door—is precious and fleeting, the pasta evolving as the cheese starts to melt.

Even when Skeen is playing with the sort of food that first got him noticed, his shift into haute cuisine opulence remains fully on course. Marrow coins extracted from the bone are served, in one elegant starter, atop pistachio-studded beet tartare, with paddlefish caviar as the cherry on top. More marrow surreptitiously elevates a gorgeous fat-swaddled strip loin, sliced on the bias and as tender as duck breast, with marrow and bordelaise sauces spooned underneath. The steak—one of the simpler dishes—also comes with a bright and beautiful panzanella salad that’s no less exacting than everything else, with tiny, crisp marrow-tossed croutons, alongside torn basil, pickled shallots and a rainbow of miniature heirloom tomatoes.

Even chicken is gussied up beyond recognition; the breasts from boutique farm birds are stuffed with a mousse of their livers and then rolled into an elegant, caul-fat-swaddled roulade. The poultry pinwheels, served in tender slices, are accompanied by sweet corn folded with brioche into a savory bread pudding.

Though the restaurant owners haven’t hired a pastry chef to assist Skeen, dessert doesn’t suffer much. Sure, the sweet stuff—homey almond-topped peach and blueberry cobbler, classic crème brûlée layered onto a warm chocolate cake—is far less complex than the savory, but the flavors that finish a meal are just as clearheaded as the ones that begin it.

Cheat sheet

Drink this: Barman Alex Day’s bespoke libations include an ambrosial mix of amaro, rye, Bénédictine, sherry and elderflower liqueur. Since none of his drinks have names, you order by number instead (the first in each alcohol category is always shaken, the second always stirred). The short wine list has its own quirky intelligence, with a bottle or two in every price point. A $45 Petite Crau Rhône is a rich, earthy choice on the low end of the list.

Eat this: Pork “toast” with deviled eggs, lamb belly, pork sugo pappardelle, strip loin with panzanella, chicken roulade

Sit here: The corner tables are the most secluded, while the center table in the farthest salon offers the best vantage point.

Conversation piece: Ryan Skeen breaks down whole suckling pigs weekly to create a range of dishes—jowls for pork toast, blood for morcilla, heads for terrine, shoulder and legs for slow-simmered sugo.

See more Restaurant reviews