Description
The charcuterie really is at the center of the place: the thin, ruddy slivers of duck ham that shine like leather jerkins in Rembrandt paintings, the paper-thin slices of cured beef that resemble Italian bresaola, or the salted mutton shoulder.
But there is cooking here beyond the charcuterie plate - simple food, butchers' food, strong food, but real food nonetheless, maybe half a dozen dishes listed on a smeary blackboard high above one end of the dining room. And as you might imagine, apart from a rustic, spicy preparation of steamed mussels with seared tomatoes, and the requisite plate of fish, what you get here is meat: a superior, grass-fed, profoundly aged New York strip steak, deeply charred yet wet, blood-sour inside, with a splash of reduced wine. Or a bit of braised pork shoulder plopped onto a bed of whatever bean seems to strike their fancy. Or a ruddy, thick hamburger, also smacked with age, with a glop of melted cheese and a rasher of bacon on a bun baked practically to order. Or a pork chop, a lamb chop or an enormous rib eye for two.
