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Eater
3 days ago
- Entertainment
- Eater
Make Gjelina's Famous Pizza, Now in 2 Hours Instead of 27
I once skipped several sessions of an expensive culinary conference in Los Angeles just so I could sit in a cab for something like two hours in heavy traffic to make it to Gjelina. In 2016, Gjelina was all anyone at the conference would talk about, so I played hooky to experience the low-key Venice restaurant with all the hype and man, I was glad I did. My fellow colleagues/truants and I dove into the hyper-seasonal, vegetable-driven menu with the zeal of sun-starved non-Californians, ordering nearly everything and eating like it was our job, because it is. There were some very lovely salads done with the sort of insouciant minimalism that put California cuisine on the map, a few astonishingly delicate handmade pastas, and the star of the show, Gjelina's famous Neapolitan-style pizzas. All floofy, charred edges, they were topped with things that made me, a former pizzaiola, swoon. The bold anchovy, roasted tomatoes, and smoked mozzarella pie was so impressive that I picked up a copy of then chef Travis Lett's 2015 Gjelina cookbook on my way out the door. I've used that book a lot in the intervening 10 years. While the restaurant's street cred has perhaps waned a little since Lett's departure, the pies are still flying off the menu and the book holds some solid lessons in how to cook. But… (you knew there was a but) the recipes are kind of a lot. Lett chose to write the book in a way that tells readers exactly how they do things in the restaurant, where a dedicated kitchen staff spends hours prepping the pickles, confit vegetables, sauces, and infused oils that make Gjelina's food taste so distinctively delicious. While I admire the transparency and flavors the effort yields, all that prep work is a pain in the patoot to create at home. Take the pizza chapter, for instance. The dough alone requires at least 27 hours to make. Lett writes in the headnote that the recipe is among the simplest he's ever worked with. Good Lord above, where was he making pizza before, the French Laundry? He starts with fresh yeast, which is only available at restaurant supply stores (in large bricks, no less) and doesn't explain why you would need to use that versus active dry yeast, which is much easier to find. Just a quick calculation and he could have converted the recipe so it was easier to use for home cooks. A cookbook is meant for home cooks, right? The recipe calls for two types of flour — low-gluten, fine-milled imported Italian Antimo Caputo 00 flour and higher-gluten King Arthur's Sir Galahad bread flour. That's fine if you have both flours knocking around in your cupboards (hint: neither will be at your local grocery store). I have found that using 00 fine-milled flour from a domestic source (Bob's Red Mill #FTW) makes for a lovely pizza crust with nice bubbly pockets, a crispy bottom, and perhaps not quite the chew of Lett's recipe, but close enough to get the Neapolitan pizza idea across. Restaurants use a low-yeast, slow-fermented dough not just because it helps the flavor and texture of a finished crust, but also because they are making large batches ahead of time and can let the dough rise over a day or two in the fridge until it's needed. Lett's recipe requires two fermentations, the first of which is at warm room temperature until the dough has risen to 50 to 75 percent of its original volume, about three hours. It's a hell of an ask for a home cook to suss out the volume in such terms. I stared at the dough for so long trying to figure out what 75 percent relative volume was that I had a very unpleasant algebra class flashback. Also, Lett writes that the temperature of the room should be 80 degrees during this initial bulk rise, but unless you live in Southern California or are making this pizza in August without AC, you are apparently f**ked. Next, the dough is risen slowly for one to two and a half days in the refrigerator. The recipe then goes on for a page about how to divide the dough and form it into taut balls, only to rise it again for a bafflingly wide time window (one and a half to three hours). After that, the dough balls are dunked in another blend of semolina and all-purpose flours, stretched by hand (NEVER with a rolling pin, but Lett doesn't say why). And at the end of all this dense and confusing prose comes this tidbit about the dough: 'If it is superelastic [ sic ], then the dough probably has not proofed enough. If the dough is supersoft [ sic ] and tears easily, it has proofed too much.' That didn't inspire much confidence. It also doesn't guide you on what to do in either of these scenarios. All of this is to say that I found the dough recipe to be excessively fiddly and time-consuming, and that the dough it yields is sticky and hard to handle. It also tastes pretty good but looks nothing like the photo in the book. Eventually I gave up on Lett's method and came up with a single-rise, single-flour dough that is ready in just under two hours. As for the toppings, the base of my favorite Gjelina pie is not tomato sauce but tomato confit, a sub recipe wherein you roast 3 pounds of blanched and peeled Roma tomatoes for four hours with garlic, herbs, and 2 cups of olive oil. For one pizza, you'll need ⅓ cup of said confit tomatoes and all that oil is collateral damage. They're delicious, and you should make the recipe sometime when you've got a ton of tomatoes and even more time, but do you know what else works? Roasting just 1 pound of smaller Campari tomatoes with garlic, herbs, and just ½ cup of oil in the oven as you are heating up the pizza stone. In just 45 minutes to an hour, the tomatoes will let go of their juices, intensify to a lovely sweetness, and their skins will crinkle and come away from the flesh as easy as plucking daisy petals. Ditto for the roasted red bell peppers. The cookbook has you flip to another sub recipe and grill the peppers over a charcoal fire, gas fire, or in a cast-iron grill pan indoors (which takes a very long time and is not recommended by yours truly). You're better off setting the peppers over a gas flame on the stove or baking halved peppers skin-side up for 30 minutes in a 400-degree oven. You could also just open a jar of roasted peppers, but if you do I recommend the meaty intensity of roasted piquillo peppers. Thankfully they're getting easier to find in grocery stores. So that leaves us with the cheese. The recipe calls for fresh, smoked mozzarella. Sadly, the only version I could find melts to the consistency of hot snot in a milky puddle and tastes like a campfire. I now use plain fresh mozzarella (blotted thoroughly with paper towels to remove excess moisture) along with a sprinkle of grated scamorza, a lightly smoked semi-firm cow's milk, for a subtle, smoky twang. As for the anchovies, I suspect that people who don't like them may only be familiar with the skinny inferior canned fishies that are thrown on lesser Caesar salads as an afterthought. I'm not sure why the book's recipe recommends salt-packed anchovies —maybe they taste better — but after leaving four different gourmet shops empty-handed, I couldn't tell you. I use Ortiz Spanish anchovies that come in a small glass jar affixed with a tiny bonus fork. They are meaty, firm, and have a buttery flavor that makes anchovy pizza well worth the fish breath. Finally, Lett instructs you to sprinkle the finished pizza with Sicilian dried oregano, because oregano with fewer food miles simply would not do. I can't say I could really taste the difference, so now I just use what I've got on hand. In the end, I've developed a recipe that is admittedly a distant homage to the stellar pie I had at Gjelina. That's because even when I followed the Gjelina recipe to the letter, I never got a pizza like the one in the book's photo with the bubbly charred crust, perhaps because my oven can't get up to 800 degrees like the restaurant's purpose-built pizza oven. So I opted to create a doable pizza recipe with a crisp crust and bold, savory toppings that takes a little less than two hours. It's a pie I make frequently. With the 25 ½ hours I save, I have time to hold down a job and make the velvety butterscotch pot de crème with salted caramel recipe in the back of the Gjelina cookbook, which never fails to make my life instantly better. Two-Hour Anchovy and Roasted Pepper Pizza Recipe Adapted from Gjelina: Cooking From Venice, California Makes 2 (10-inch) pizzas, serves 2 to 4 Ingredients: 2 teaspoons active dry yeast1 cup warm water (70-75 degrees)2 tablespoons plus 1 ½ teaspoons olive oil, divided3 cups (384 grams) Bob's Red Mill 00 flour, plus more for dusting1 ½ teaspoons salt1 teaspoon sugar2 to 3 tablespoons polenta or semolina flour6 ounces fresh mozzarella, torn into pieces (⅔ cup) and patted dry with paper towels½ cup grated scamorza cheese or low-moisture smoked mozzarella cheese1 cup Quick Roasted Tomatoes (see recipe below), skins discarded, flesh torn into ½-inch chunks½ cup jarred, sliced roasted piquillo peppers or roasted red bell peppers, patted dry with paper towels10 good-quality oil packed anchovies ½ to 1 teaspoon dried oregano Instructions: Step 1: Put a pizza stone on a rack in the lower third of the oven and preheat the oven to 500 degrees. Bake the tomatoes (if using) as the oven heats up (see sub recipe below). Step 2: Make the pizza dough. In a measuring cup, combine the yeast and water and set aside for 5 minutes until creamy and a little puffy looking. Add 1 tablespoon of the olive oil and stir to combine. Combine the flour, salt, and sugar in the bowl of a stand mixer or in a large bowl (if kneading by hand). Add the yeast-water mixture and mix on low speed (2) with the dough hook until the dough comes together into a smooth, stretchy dough, 4 to 5 minutes. To test if it's got enough gluten development, try the window pane test; if the dough is developed, you should be able to stretch a small amount of dough between your fingers until it is almost see-through at the thinnest point without tearing. If kneading by hand, dust a work surface with as little flour as possible and knead until smooth and stretchy, 5 to 8 minutes. The wetter the dough, the crisper the crust will be. Step 3: Let the dough rise. Rub the remaining 2 teaspoons of oil in a large bowl, add the dough, cover, and set aside next to the oven until the dough is puffy and nearly doubled in size, 1 to 1 ½ hours, depending on the temperature in your kitchen. If you're not sure if it's ready, try the poke test. Step 4: Stretch the pizza dough using the steering wheel method. Divide the dough in half. Leave one piece in the bowl, covered. Put the other on a lightly floured surface and gently press down the center of the dough to create a fat disc. Gently stretch the dough into a small round with your fingers, leaving ½ inch of the edges untouched to create a puffy edge. Pick up the dough near the edge, letting the rest hang down and continuing to leave a half-inch of the edge untouched. Gently pinch the dough while rotating it until it is stretched to about 10 to 12 inches in diameter. Gravity will help stretch the dough and rotating it while you work ensures you get a round-ish shape. Step 5: Sprinkle a pizza peel or the back of a baking sheet with a four-finger pinch of polenta or semolina; the coarseness will act like ball bearings and make it extra easy to slide the dough from the peel onto the pizza stone in the oven. Transfer the dough to the pizza peel, making sure it isn't sticking anywhere. Carefully arrange half of the tomatoes over the dough, followed by half the cheese, peppers, and anchovies Don't let any toppings get on the peel or the dough may stick. Step 6: Open the oven and transfer the pizza to the stone by putting the front edge of the peel very close to the stone. Using a decisive jerking motion, quickly slide the pizza onto the stone, almost as if you were pulling a tablecloth out from under a fully laid dining table. Bake, rotating the pizza once for even browning, until the crust is crisp underneath, the edges are deeply browned in places, and the cheese is bubbly, 10 to 12 minutes. Using the pizza peel, transfer the pizza to a large cutting board. Sprinkle with half of the oregano and drizzle with 1 ½ teaspoons of olive oil (or the oil used to bake the tomatoes), cut into wedges, and serve immediately. Step 7: Let the pizza stone heat up again for 15 minutes. Make the second pizza with the remaining dough and toppings. Quick Roasted Tomatoes Recipe Makes about 1 cup, enough for two pizzas Ingredients: 1 pound medium-size Campari tomatoes, halved2 large garlic cloves, sliced1 teaspoon oregano¼ teaspoon thyme½ teaspoon sea salt1 pinch chile flakes ½ cup extra-virgin olive oil Instructions: Step 1: Prepare the tomatoes. Poke the seeds out of the tomatoes and discard. Place the tomatoes cut side up in an 8-by-11-inch baking dish (or any other baking dish that can fit the tomatoes in an even layer). Tuck a slice of garlic into each tomato half. Sprinkle with the oregano, thyme, sea salt, and chile flakes. Pour the olive oil over the top. Step 2: Bake the tomatoes. Put a piece of foil loosely over the baking dish and place it on the center rack of a cold oven, on the rack above the pizza stone. (Do not put the baking dish on the pizza stone itself or it will prevent the stone from preheating properly.) Set the oven to 500 degrees and bake until the tomatoes are collapsed and smell amazing, 45 minutes to 1 hour. Remove from the oven, uncover, and let cool for 5 to 10 minutes. Remove the center rack from the oven to make it easier to slide the pizzas into the oven. Step 3: When the tomatoes are cool enough to handle, pull off their skins and discard. Place the tomatoes and garlic in a bowl and break them up with a spoon into large chunks, then set aside until you need them. Reserve the olive oil left over in the baking dish to drizzle on the pizzas. Any remaining oil can be kept in an airtight container in the refrigerator for up to one week. Dina Ávila is a photographer living in Portland, Oregon. Prices taken at time of publishing. $25 at Amazon $35 at Bookshop
Eater
22-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Eater
The Cult of Las Vegas's Oyster Bar
What's the toughest table to get in Las Vegas? Maybe it's Mother Wolf, that juggernaut of modern Roman cuisine inside the Fontainebleau, or Stubborn Seed at Resorts World, the latest opening from a Top Chef winner who seems to actually be making good on his potential. One would be forgiven for guessing an old standby like Joël Robuchon, or a newcomer like Gjelina at the Venetian, a Los Angeles export grilling yu choy and other sundry dishes that embody California cuisine. But you would be way, way off. The toughest seat is actually the 24-hour Palace Station Oyster Bar, where devotees are queued up at all hours of the day and night to taste its Cajun- and Creole-style seafood dishes. The 18-seat Oyster Bar, which turns 30 years old this fall, has a fervent cult following and there are no reservations. There's also nothing exclusive about access, nor is there a dress code: It's literally in the middle of the casino floor, where the slots bisect the table games. And although it's certainly not cheap (it's serving seafood, after all), it's not cost-prohibitive, meaning its customers are a mix of tourists and locals. Las Vegas is a city rife with contradictions, so it's no surprise that its most exclusive restaurant is simultaneously one of its most inclusive. It also sits within one of Vegas's most populist casinos, on an expanse of land just west of I-15 on Sahara Avenue, awkwardly positioned between the Strip and Downtown. The location, simultaneously inconvenient and yet a short drive from nearly everything, embodies the term 'neither here nor there.' It's a spot that's so seemingly unremarkable, in fact, that its decades of success don't make much sense to the casual observer. ('People thought he was crazy,' says Lorenzo Fertitta, son of Station Casinos founder Frank Fertitta Jr., referring to the location of his father's venture.) Hopefully, a picture is beginning to come together. You're in Vegas, hungry in the infernal heat, dodging F1 construction and checking out whatever ads or emojis happen to be emblazoned on the Sphere that day. Walking into Palace Station, there's the familiar waft of cigarette smoke. Dragon Link and other creature-themed slot machines call out ( 'Buffaloooooo!' ), but there's a hint of something else floating in the air — tomatoes, cream and... is that sherry? The aromas intensify as you go deeper into the belly of the building. The first thing you'll notice is the marquee: 'Oyster Bar 24/7,' with a little anchor on the side. The faux chalkboard lettering on a half-octagon that wraps around above the bar has a distinctly '90s Bar Louie feel, but don't let that dissuade you. Past the stanchions cordoning off Oyster Bar from the rest of the casino is a long line of people on one side, like theater patrons waiting for the latest hot off-Broadway show. Behind the bar, there is an entrancing performance: Cooks and servers rhythmically rotate behind billowing clouds of steam, pouring drinks and arranging oysters in circles atop crushed ice. Oyster Bar's most popular dish is not, in fact, the fat Gulf oysters as big as computer mice, but rather the pan roast. And while plenty of people get oysters or a shrimp cocktail on the side, or maybe an order of the herbaceous gumbo or heady etouffee, most people come for the pan roast. Oyster Bar goes through 33,000 gallons of it annually. The counterintuitively named dish, which may originate with Grand Central Oyster Bar in New York, conjures an image of a chicken in a pan, roasting in the oven. Put this out of your head. Instead, imagine a bisque — a thick, creamy, shellfish-based seafood soup, a rustic base for huge floating hunks of seafood. Anchored by tomatoes and cream, girded with an aromatic sofrito that tastes of the holy trinity of Cajun cooking, the pan roast has an undertone of garlic and a nutty fruitiness, akin to brandy or fortified wine. It should be eaten with a spoon, but some larger chunks of shrimp, crab, and lobster may need to be forked out. Served with white rice and a basic chunk of bread, the pan roast can also be eaten with a side of noodles. Rice is the correct choice, however, as the surface tension allows the base of the roast to envelop the rice, creating a creamy crustacean porridge. Let's be clear — this is not revelatory fine dining. I remember, after first having the pan roast, feeling even slightly underwhelmed. At the end of the day, it's 'a jazzed-up bisque,' in the words of specialty cook Bob Higdon, who's worked at Oyster Bar for the last 25 years and has a seemingly endless repertoire of droll quips and one-liners he delivers to patrons. But a day later, I felt an unfamiliar tug. The taste had almost instantly grown on me, like I'd been eating it for years. And now, sitting here writing this piece, the slow burn has grown into a bonfire: I want to go back. I can't wait to go back. 'I tell people all the time,' Higdon says. 'I said, 'You're not going to hate me now, you're going to hate me next week when you're sitting at home and get that flavor in the back of your mouth.'' And he's right. That's exactly what happened. Beyond the pan roast, there are a few things you need to know when dining at Oyster Bar. First, you'll be asked to select a spice level, 10 being the highest. Most people who like spicy food can probably swing a 7 or 8 without feeling like they've made a grave mistake. Otherwise, stick to a 4. Spice can always be added in the form of the off-menu lava sauce — a tangy, chunky mixture of hot peppers that you can feel burning your mouth before the spoon even reaches your lips. You have to ask for it specifically, and it's only for showoffs and true masochists. Second, the entrees are a huge amount of food, especially with the rice. Finishing a pan roast solo is a serious undertaking. The leftovers are worth keeping if your hotel room has a microwave and/or fridge. Third, don't bring the kids. Oyster Bar is literally a bar, and they can't seat anyone under 21. Also, you won't get the exact recipe, so don't ask. ('You don't ask the Colonel for 11 spices,' says Higdon.) And finally, be ready to wait. The story of the wait, and of Oyster Bar, starts in 1976 with Fertitta Jr., who discovered a demographic that had not fully been tapped into: a casino that catered to Las Vegas locals, not tourists. (Indeed, he opened as simply The Casino.) Oyster Bar came along in October 1995. While there may have been a Cajun joint or two around town at the time, this particular style of New Orleans cooking hadn't quite taken hold in Vegas. Emeril Lagasse, he of the onomatopoetic catchphrase, didn't open New Orleans Fish House at MGM Grand until the following month. Today, there are plenty of Cajun options in Vegas, mostly off-Strip, mostly of the crawfish or seafood-boil variety. In the summer of 2000, something had changed. 'That's when I noticed the lines.' Oyster Bar was opened, in part, as an apparent nod to Fertitta Jr.'s origins in southeastern Texas, near the Louisiana border. 'That kind of food is very prominent around there,' says Dave Horn, general manager of Durango casino and former GM of Palace Station. 'I think it's a real easy tie-in that they said, 'Okay, you know what? We should bring this here.'' Interest in the restaurant ramped up slowly. 'It was a cult following at first,' says Horn, who was a valet attendant for the casino at the time. He posits that Oyster Bar's rise in popularity coincided with the rise of online culture in the mid-1990s. 'That's when you have the internet start to come alive,' Horn recalls. '[There's] that five-year period where people can start to talk about things on the internet or Palace Station can put something out there.' By the time Horn came back for his second stint at Palace Station in the summer of 2000, something had changed. 'That's when I noticed the lines,' he says. The line is an amalgamation of different cities, states, and countries, where folks of every shape and size stand and wait for one of those 18 coveted seats at the counter. The line can take as long as five hours to get through ('Super Bowl weekend a couple years ago,' says Higdon). The line is, in some ways, the defining characteristic of the Oyster Bar experience. A blessing and a curse. Okay, it's mostly a curse. Lines are unpleasant. But decadeslong Oyster Bar customers seem to think it's worth the wait — or, at the very least, they've convinced themselves of that truth. Gina Bruno, a flight attendant visiting from the Washington, D.C., area, has been coming here for the past 20 years. 'It's like a camaraderie,' she says. 'You stand in line, you talk about what you're gonna eat, and it's just a whole experience.' But she is also frank about the line, which she and her dining companions had been standing in for about two hours. 'It sucks,' she says, laughing. 'It's worth the wait,' says Barry Bryant, who works in entertainment in Atlanta. Bryant, who also has been coming to Oyster Bar for two decades, says he makes the trip every time he comes to Las Vegas. 'It's not too fancy, it's casual and it's different — it hits different.' Anitra Baker has been a fan for even longer — 25 years. She typically visits from California every year on her birthday. 'You can't get the same taste anywhere else,' she says. 'I can't find it anywhere else. I literally come all the way from San Francisco to get it.' 'I can't find it anywhere else. I literally come all the way from San Francisco to get it.' I've been to some restaurants where there's a vague feeling that the wait was somewhat manufactured, or intentional. As in, staff could have done more food prep or planning ahead of time if they'd wanted to, in order to cut down on wait times. That's not the case here. Oyster Bar cooks move as quickly as possible, turning all the seats at a rate that approaches once per hour, 24 hours a day. With only 18 people being served at a time, each pan roast, gumbo, or bouillabaisse taking around 8 to 10 minutes to cook, and just six jacketed steam kettles to prepare them, the cooks are limited in how quickly they can serve those customers. The kettles resemble small woks and sit in a row behind the counter in a setup that looks literally steampunk — tubes and pipes wriggling out of the counter to spew cold water or feed jets of hot steam into the containers. There are numerous advantages to cooking with these kettles: being able to boil cold water in about 30 seconds, not having to constantly wash pots and pans, and keeping the kitchen cooler because there's no open flame. But the biggest advantage is the evenness and consistency of the temperature. 'You can let your stuff reduce without it burning the sauces,' Higdon explains. 'The whole surface of our kettle is the same temperature. It doesn't have a hot spot.' No hot spots mean uniform cooking, which means you don't get some pieces of seafood that are perfectly cooked and some that are rubbery and overdone. And no broken sauces, either. 'If you've ever had a scorched cream sauce, you know that's not good stuff,' he says. The cooking method also provides a bit of theatrics, which has been another part of Oyster Bar's lasting appeal. Ordering, preparing, plating, and consuming all happen within a couple feet of each other. 'There's no other setting you get like that besides hibachi, [where] you get to interact with your cook and they cook right in front of you,' says Paul Sanchez, the chef that currently oversees Oyster Bar. Sanchez notes that it takes a special kind of cook to make it work. 'I fell in love with it right away,' he says. 'The style of cooking, being able to talk to people from all across the world, interacting with guests. But a lot of cooks, they don't like that. You know, that's why they're back of the house.' Nothing has been able to dethrone the original Oyster Bar. Las Vegas is a place heavy on mimicry. When something in the city works, particularly in the food arena, imitators pop up left and right. And while that's certainly happened with Oyster Bar — even in the form of places opened down the street by cooks who quite literally used to work at Oyster Bar — nothing has been able to dethrone the original. (Station Casinos also has four other Oyster Bars at its different properties. I've heard they don't match the charm of the original.) Sanchez explains it this way: 'My theory is, in a chef's mind, you want to make things better, always want to take it to the next level. Well, here, it's not about taking it to the next level. It's about keeping the consistency... If somebody comes here from Hawai'i once a year, and this is the place to go, they come and order a pan roast. Next time they come, they want that exact same flavor profile.' In other words, nostalgia and sense memory are powerful aspects of food. And when people fall in love, they don't want a better, flashier version. They want what they had. 'If you try to recreate [the pan roast] and put it somewhere else, it won't work,' says chef David Chang, who has been beating the Oyster Bar drum for years. Chang estimates he's eaten there between 30 and 40 times. Trying to replicate the exact chemistry of a place like that, he says, is a futile exercise. 'Sometimes a restaurant like that works because it's the perfect balance of ingredients, of everything. From the ambience to the cigarettes in the air, everything works together.' 'I don't describe it,' Chang says. 'I just say, 'Trust the process and you'll be so happy.'' Even if that means waiting for an hour or two. Or three. Most of the day, there's no getting around the wait. There is one workaround — well, it's not exactly a workaround, but a path to a shorter wait. If you want a pan roast first thing in the morning, and let's face it, you might not after a night of Jägerbombs, try rolling in around 7 or 8 a.m. The line will likely be much shorter. But aside from that, the best bet is to come as a crew and rotate people in and out of the line. Someone waits while the other people go gamble, go to the sportsbook, or mall-walk the casino floor. Horn even recalls seeing people put in food orders while waiting in line, just to tide them over: 'They'd literally put in a pizza and a drink order... In my head I'm thinking, '[These are] people eating and drinking in the line to wait for a food and drink product .'' But the best thing to do is to embrace it. Give in to it. Come hungry and ready to wait, safe in the knowledge that the entire sensory experience of the Oyster Bar — the visuals of the cooking, the smells of the steaming seafood, the electronic din of spinning slot machines, the sardonic one-liners coming out of Chef Bob's mouth — all combine together in a way that is sui generis in the restaurant world. Like the symphony inside the pan roast itself, there's nothing quite like it. Sign up for our newsletter.
Forbes
30-04-2025
- Entertainment
- Forbes
Gjelina And Opto Are Serving Some Of The Liveliest Food In New York
A selection of starters and pastas at Opto in New York's Flatiron District. When celebrated Venice, California restaurant Gjelina arrived in New York late in 2022, it was one of the biggest openings of the year with lines out the door onto Bond Street. The closing came quickly, however: a month later due to a fire and 10,000 gallons of water from the Fire Department to put it out. Two years and massive rebuilding later, though, it officially reopened in December serving vibrant dishes to a lively (especially on expansive restaurant's second floor) crowd. A selection of dishes at Gjelina. The focus, as ever, is local produce which as various critics have pointed out gives the Venice version an advantage during the winter. But New York's head chef Jake Epstein doesn't agree. 'We remain committed to creativity, regardless of the season's bounty,' he explains. 'In New York, the winter months often mean working with farms that rely on longer-storing vegetables like celery root, storage beets and carrots, cabbages, and cultivated mushrooms. Working with farms as true partners means standing by them through the more scarce months, just as much as we enjoy the abundance of spring, which we can currently say is a breath of fresh air. And yes, when the moment felt right, we couldn't resist bringing in a bit of California citrus to brighten things up.' A selection of pizzas at Gjelina. That means diners who go in now will find vivid dishes such as with Sugar Snap Peas with Kalamata Olive, Fennel and Mint; Asparagus with Romesco, Pecorino and Lemon and Brussel Sprouts with Chili Lime Vinaigrette, Walnut and Cilantro in the sizeable vegetable portion of the menu. Elsewhere on the menu are spirited dishes such as Kampachi with Pomegranate Aguachile, Crispy Garlic, Fresno Chili and Scallion from the Raw Bar; pizza variations such as Lamb Sausage, Asiago, Confit Tomato, Rapini, Pecorino Romano, Mint and Mixed Mushroom, Rosemary, Confit Garlic and Olive Oil. Even a dish that sounds less surprising such as Bangs Island Mussels with Countneck Clams, Tomatillo, Chili Oil and Grilled Bread is so delicious that more grilled bread must be ordered to sop up every last bit of the oil. It is, simply, a very addictive dish. King Salmon Crudo at Opto. Over in the Flatiron District. in the location that housed the longtime Greek favorite Periyali, co-owner Nicola Kotsoni has now transformed it into the wider ranging Mediterranean spot Opto; there chef Alex Tubero's passion for zesty preparations and high level imported ingredients is on full display. Starters such as King Salmon Crudo get an extra kick from the North African red chile pasta harissa, lime and sesame; Grilled Spanish Octopus from mint and aged Sherry; the popular Gem Lettuce Salad from Dill, Scallion, Cucumber and Sesame-Anchovy Vinaigrette. One holdover from Periyali that regulars from that restaurant always order: the handmade stuffed grape leaves Dolmades that literally do melt in one's mouth. Rocky Mountain Lamb Chops with the Moroccan spice mix Ras el Hanout and Mint Chermoula, Pastas roam around the region from the Spanish Fideuà de Catalana with Red Shrimp, Monkfish, Clams and Saffron, similar to paella but with short pasta instead of rice, and Tagliolini al Amalfi Limone with Cultured Butter and Parmigiano Reggiano blending in with the lemon to elicit the feeling of a sunny afternoon on the Amalfi Coast. Main courses from land include Filet Mignon Shish with the spicy cilantro sauce Zhoug, Spring Onion and Blistered Tomato and Rocky Mountain Lamb Chops with the Moroccan spice mix Ras el Hanout and Mint Chermoula, the North African herb sauce. The Canary Islands Branzino at Opto. Even with a range of other options, though, the star of the menu is likely the Branzino flown in three times a week from the Canary Islands that adds a very crisp skin to the moist, deeply flavorful fish without drying it out. Tubero claims it's the fish's quality not his preparation since this branzino has an added layer of fat under the skin. Another branzino elsewhere will undoubtedly taste pretty ordinary after this one. Opto's Chocolate Mousse. At the end of the menu, the Lemon Torte Caprese is a pretty luscious, appropriate finish. But if you look around the tables (and photos on social media), the incredibly rich chocolate mousse under a cloud of whipped cream is being shared by other diners on friends' dinners out. Selfishly, though, you'll want to keep it all to yourself.
