The New Grazing

The second meal proceeded much like the first as we perched at the high table, grazing on two dishes from the Bites section, two from the More. The grilled pizza was, of course, not really a pizza at all (beware any menu's offering of a single-size pizza). Our server had used the misnomer "crisp" for what was really a puffy flatbread ("It's like a pita!" my companion said), topped with crumbled housemade pork sausage, green olives, capers, pickled onion slivers, manchego cheese, and a last-minute sprinkling of cress. Barely warmed, the ingredients had no chance to meld, and I wasn't enamored of the combination anyway. The housemade charcuterie plate was also a bit of a disappointment. It featured the same pork sausage, this time in chunks; a few slivers of duck prosciutto; and a tasty, if grayish, round of chicken liver pâté, our favorite of the three offerings. The plate was garnished with sliced baguette, jam, a smear of whole-grain mustard, and some lightly dressed frisée. Three barbecue pork sliders (sliders of some sort are an essential signifier of the small-plates menu), the meat obscured by an abundance of sweet sauce, came with a mountain of really delicious crisp garlic-truffle french fries. The lamb braise on toast had an odd element of bitter greens, and I found myself wishing the toast were mashed potatoes or polenta.

This seemed more like discomfort food than comfort food, especially when the housemade marshmallow pie we ordered for dessert, which we had envisioned as a big, sloppy moon pie, turned out to be two chilly underflavored little cookies side by side. "This isn't really scrumptious," my pal observed. We were much more taken with our drinks, a cachaça-based Ipanema and a wintry maple-syrup-and-bourbon concoction.

When I've struck out at a place, sometimes I first blame myself, forgetting that we'd tried a good third of the menu, and that when so few dishes are on offer, they all ought to be good. The guy and gal sitting next to us seemed to be enjoying their flatiron steak and caesar salad; she even put down her cellphone when the food arrived. Plump cheeseburgers wrapped in greasy paper looked delicious as they passed by, destined for other diners. I ordered one to go, taking a bite of the thick, hand-shaped patty encased in a good brioche bun as we walked down Polk in the rain. It was indeed a good burger, better than most of what we'd grazed upon. It came with the same great fries that were the other really good thing we'd eaten that night. I bet Bar Johnny makes a really good Bloody Mary, too.