Everything about Gato seemed to hit the spot on this regular Tuesday night – the industrial chic space, the increasingly lively scene – as a crowd of regulars, no longer fitting in the front space around the perimeter of a four-sided central bar slowly spilled into the shadows of the dining area in the back, taking over most of the Viennese coffeehouse style chairs and banquettes. At this place, Bobby Flay’s exceptional attention to detail and his complex color palette – off and on the plate – are employed to highlight every nuance and every flavor, and excellence in presentation comes through in everything. Nothing less would do for this Noho establishment on Lafayette off Bond, in the design-conscious epicenter of downtown Manhattan neighborhoods.
This place in my mind is one of true gems of gesamtkunstwerk – a lofty vintage term, coined in early 19th century Germany to describe a practice of interdisciplinary synthesis, already employed by humanist Renaissance artists who worked holistically, accepting no boundaries between distinct genres and spheres of activity. More importantly, the term was still used in reference to music and modernist architecture in Vienna of the Secession and Wiener Werkstatte, and even remained in late use in Bauhaus Berlin. A term that stands for ‘total work of art’ but which has no single word equivalent in English. Total work of art – as in a museum or a theater that grabs you with everything it has – from door knob or coat hanger to painting or stage set – or as in a city like Prague or Paris where the spirit of place has you convinced that the best and most ideal work of art here is not locked up in a museum collection but is the city itself. A term I doubt has ever been employed to critique a restaurant.
At Gato, the sophisticated intensity of taste and the urbane, visual appealing design – from palate to palette (could I have coined a new phrase here?) – combine to turn ordinary into special, elevating an everyday business dinner into no less than a gesamtkunstwerk of its own. No feature in isolation stands out as truly unique but the synthesis and crossover of craftsmanship, if not artistry, make it an experience. The orange inner surfaces of hanging lamp shades made of copper channel golden light straight down onto table surface, this effect strengthened in turn by warm ambient light radiated by the low-hanging non-glare chandeliers and by the multiple recessed fixtures. This interplay of light and color paints golden the otherwise dark surfaces of glazed brickwork of shallow vaulted ceilings, vaguely defining their black stringer framing, cast iron columns, and polychrome patterns of mosaic floors. Every detail here connects visually with the colorful saffron-infused dishes – a mental bridge to Spain, spices, the Mediterranean sun – their taste even more nuanced and elegant than their look. Everything seems to be a part of a holistic and well-executed master plan. By the architect – but also by the celebrity chef. The synthesis is so powerful and organic, it is hard to know where the scope of one stops and that of the other begins, the presence of master artist equally felt in the creation of the edible and transitory and of the design of the ambient and permanent.
And sitting through a one-on-one business dinner as the waiter covers the table with main course plates, I can’t help but make a comment, only half joking, that if I were a teenage girl I would certainly document this progression of singularly photogenic and appetizing dishes, but something holds me back from reaching for my phone. The conversation appropriately starts on gourmet food and Veneto wines, drifts to the Adriatic, the unfulfilled promise of Istrian island and Dalmatian coast vacations, and two out-of-the-way NYC favorites briefly considered as an alternative but happily forsaken in favor of Gato. Business is discussed briefly – over excellent white Burgundy and quite drinkable white Douro blend – as the couple at the table to my left settles into a rare discussion on Nazism, weirdly synchronized with socialism related buzzwords heard from the table to my right.
As the first round of wine glasses is followed by the second, as plates of shared appetizers, now empty, are replaced with main and side dishes, the perfect mix of tastes filling the table gets to be almost too much. The taste easily drowns the conversation, which by now has turned into a monologue, my host drifting from practicalities of business transactions to pontificating on disrupting technologies, and soon ‘digital currencies’ and ‘blockchain’ – abstract, opaque, hard to define, and irrelevant in the moment – are the only isolated words still capable of getting through to my ears behind all this intensity of flavors weighing on my palate…
This is not my first, or even third, time at Gato, I know what to expect, but even the more familiar of the dishes continue to exceed all expectations. The eleven layer potato starter with shallots and fried sage is a nice touch, the roasted octopus with charred pepper and bacon bits is succulent and blows every namesake dish you have had elsewhere out of the water. And the scrambled egg appetizer with red Catalonian romesco pepper, almond sauce and boucheron cheese is a must. But wait for the star of the show, the steamed halibut in saffron-tomato broth with mint and couscous, try it with a side of Brussels sprouts with pomegranates and pistachios. Conversation – at our table or next to us, on energy deals, innovation, Nazism or socialism – simply has no chance to compete for attention. Thoughts of walking back from my commitment to an anti-food blog – for a simple reason that food, any food, regardless of sophistication and the number of Michelin stars, has a short life cycle and inevitably ends up you know where just hours later, and therefore is not to be elevated to the status of art, which is timeless, – thoughts of giving up on that theory are starting to fill my softened and intoxicated imagination.
Brought back to my senses by a rich dark chocolate desert with toasted almost and port gelato, and a shot of espresso, I make a mental note – blog or no blog, food or anti-food – that Gato, like many great things, must only improve with age.
