Union Square Café

American.  If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.  Just move a few blocks northeast and recreate your singular magic on a nightly basis.

I began my excursion with their bibb and red oak leaf lettuces.  The symphony of complex flavors (gruyère, Dijon vinaigrette, sourdough croutons) inversely proportional to the deceptively simple name.

At the other end of the spectrum: sweet corn sformato (buttered lobster, chervil, lime).  I thought perhaps the “s” was silent.  Turns out it is not and neither is the taste of this flan-like, soufflé-ish tribute to seafood and vegetable.

If craving more of both, you’ll achieve pure palate gratification through the swordfish a la plancha (charred octopus, eggplant, salmoriglio).  Or, should poultry be your preference, the grilled half chicken (sweet corn, scallion, buttered potatoes) can make your terra firma fantasies come true.

There’s no earthly reason to drop your dreams at dessert, though the banana tart (macadamia, honey vanilla ice cream) and espresso chocolate cake (espresso ganache, caramel, fior di latte ice cream) seem less likely crafted in the kitchen than somewhere up above.

Everything about Union Square Café remains out of this world.  Uncontested purveyors of perfection, no matter what their address.