Due west, where the cowboys of chic collide with the meat market, Oriont has yet to open its upstairs dining room or switch on its promised cabaret, but the blackish-green-on-black lounge and bar is already packed. It's surely a sign of the new Meat Market magnetism: Oh, what fun to jostle the bikers, navigate the treacherous pavement, and inhale the pervasive parfum de cow fat. Of course, owner Michelle Jean has fans from earlier stints at Circa and Restaurant 147. And there may be a crowd drawn by the sexy aura of designer Christopher Ciccone's riff on thirties Shanghai, not to mention the possibility his sister, Madonna, might slither in at any moment. Certainly, there is an extra frisson in the Kiehl's potions of the ladies' room. Well, I am impressed.
Oriont. I suppose it's politically incorrect to suggest that some dyslexic genius came up with that name, Oriental Garden and Orienta being already claimed. A team of sushi chefs whittles and rolls away nonstop. And Macao-born chef Rosa Lo San Ross's take on Pacific Rim- fusion lounge food is perfect for a crowd that actually prefers to graze. The better to table-hop. The better to hit the road on a lemming rush. A friend who lives nearby says he's been back twice just for the smoked-eel-sushi box. But running into fellow nightcrawlers is clearly a plus for him. Tonight, everyone at our table has popped up once or twice to air-kiss or slap-hug someone they know and puff on a cigarette. We are seated in an intense transit surge opposite the bar.
Behind us I have a sense of glamour; bold-type six-somes; "Ben Stiller," someone whispers; "Madonna" is the rumor (possibly in the VIP nook). I crane my neck, but so much modish black cloth against black walls makes a blur. I am left to focus on tricolor tartare turbans (excellent), rare grilled tuna in wasabi soy (a bit scant), baby-back ribs (insist the kitchen slice them apart), all sorts of dumplings in a steamer (small and soggy) and juicy slices of red poached filet mignon on luscious baby potato (not potatoe, Mr. Quayle) salad. I find the shredded chicken with hoisin in lettuce cups dry and boring, and the oddly flavored tofu inedible, but love soba noodles in peanut-coconut dressing and the long beans with thin batons of Asian pear and black sesame in a sesame vinaigrette. Chocolate cake with orange essence is so dense one bite goes a long way. And sake-poached fruit is deliciously firm and refreshing. Oh, this is foolish. I actually had to stop gossiping and flirting and being witty and comparing pashminas with my friends and reapplying my lipstick to even think about food. I'll be back if they ever get the dining room open and see how much that matters.
Oriont (431 West 14th Street; 212-645-1988). Open for dinner Tuesday through Saturday, 6 p.m. to midnight; bar open from 5 p.m. to 4 a.m. Closed Sunday and Monday. A.E., M.C., V.
Email
Print
Eight Year-End Films Vie for Oscar Contention
Sondheim and Lansbury on a Lifetime in Theater
The Black Keys Release Their Hip-hop Debut 
How the BQE Became an Artistic Muse
On Great Jones Street, Shopping Is Art 
Classic Fare, Old-world Charm at Le Caprice
Buy a Brownstone for Less Than $1 Million
Fifty of the City's Tastiest Soups
Reasons to Love New York 2009
New York Politicians Refuse to Quit
A-Rod Has Babe Ruth in His Sights
McCain Yields to the Party's Pressure
