Curried Away

The Lolita team tries its hand at the complex flavors of India.

by Elisa Ludwig

Michael T. Regan MOO-VING: Chef Marcie Turney's short rib "do piaza" is braised to luscious perfection. (CLICK IMAGE FOR LARGER VERSION)

When your first restaurant is a success, how do you go about creating a second one? Spin off the original theme into a more casual concept (Vetri/Osteria)? Or get fancier (Fuji Mountain/Kaizan)? Build a replica across town (Sabrina's)? Or open in another town altogether (Cuba Libre)?

Marcie Turney and Valerie Safran, co-owners of well-regarded Mexican BYO Lolita, have chosen a different tactic. With their newest venture, Bindi, they've taken the show across the street, keeping the basic formula intact but substituting curry leaves for ancho chilies.

It makes sense. Turney and Safran have a knack for combining sleek design, smart business skills and intriguing cookery. Within a period of a few years, they've revived the once-sleazy 13th Street corridor with an army of chic storefronts.

Bindi is located next door to their upscale Grocery, in a space that used to house the market's sit-down café. It's now outfitted with wine-colored velvet curtains, hanging wire sculpture and a giant bindi dot on the ceiling. Though it's still got a bit of the sterile feel of a retail space, a recently added tented vestibule adds warmth on chilly nights.

Bindi doesn't accept reservations, and if it turns out to have the buzz of Lolita, it probably won't need to. But there's also an odd policy of an $18-per-person minimum, ostensibly created to discourage diners from eating only "namkeen" (small plates) and clogging up the precious few tables.

With its litany of ingredients, the menu lies in stark contrast to the reductionist décor. Unlike Lolita, where the "Provocative Flavors of Mexico" means contemporary interpretations of traditional cuisine, the Bindi approach seems more tentative.

Chef Turney, who studied with noted cookbook author Julie Sahni, keeps many classics intact. Airy homemade pappadums are crisp bites of cracker with an appealing sour tang. The mango lassi, a yogurt and fruit shake spiked with green cardamom, is fresher than what you find in many Indian restaurants, yet true to form. The breads, like roti packed with a layer of potato, or the spinach-, cheese- and caramelized onion-stuffed kulcha, are dense rounds boasting the warm char of the griddle.

The duck pani puri are crisp little cupfuls of shredded duck and sweet potato specked with the caraway-like ajwain seed. A samosa stuffed with parsnip and paneer is a flaky beauty of a pastry, the sweet interior a compelling spin on the usual potato/pea. And the BYO mixes (a la Lolita) make for fine drinking, particularly the pomegranate-ginger lemonade with a few glugs of vodka.

Things start to veer off into a different direction with the Chana Masala Chicken. Here, a traditional North Indian chickpea stew is mated with yogurt-marinated chicken breast. The meat has a lusciously tender texture, but its thin orange-hued gravy registers only the slightest buzz of spice.

Saag paneer is updated with slivers of fresh scallion, cubes of butternut squash and grilled portobellos, the chunky paneer (homemade cheese) lathered in a creamy spinach and mustard green sauce. But it's more of an aesthetic improvement than a culinary one, as the dish itself tastes like a dull version of the original.

Indian food is such a complex knot of flavors that this kitchen's variations don't always enhance it — sometimes, if it's possible, there's too much detail at work. It's hard to argue with a pickle plate, but of the three presented, only the thinly sliced mango and ginger preserve dotted with black nigella seeds is a condiment that works well with other offerings.

Presentation is also problematic. The dishes come in elegant dimpled copper bowls called kadais. They make sense for sauce-heavy, one-dish numbers like the saag paneer, but many of the entrées are layered, Western style, over starches and vegetables. The swirl of ingredients, coupled with the dim lighting and deep vessels, can be downright confusing.

Case in point — the pork loin vindaloo, where the meat is first rubbed with a tantalizing mixture of cumin and black cardamom, then placed over a smooth cauliflower purée along with mushroom pickle and mango-date chutney. It tastes great, but in the bowl it becomes an indiscriminate jumble. Call me a tableware reactionary, but I'd love to see this dish on a white plate.

Still, there are plenty of good ideas at work. Among the most memorable is something you would never see in India: short ribs. Hindu dietary preferences aside, it's a luscious concoction, the beef braised to tangy, sweet disintegration, the sauce seeping into chunks of potato, with fine shreds of carrot kosambri salad adding cool crunch and slivers of pickled onions cutting the richness with vinegar tang.

It's with dessert that Bindi truly takes Indian flavors to new heights. Laced with shredded coconut, a moist cardamom cake soaked in rum and banana syrup is in and of itself remarkable; add on the cone-shaped pistachio kulfi (Indian ice cream) and crumbled cocoa nib and it becomes a cross-cultural wonder. And the deep dark chocolate pot de crème — a favorite across the street — heads East here with aromatic spice and salted caramel shards that melt on the tongue. It's a dessert both restaurants do especially well — and why mess with a sure thing?

(e_ludwig@citypaper.net)

Bindi

105 S. 13th St., 215-922-6061, bindibyob.com

Hours: Tue.-Thu., Sun., 5-10 p.m.; Fri.-Sat., 5-11 p.m.; closed Monday.

Small plates, $7-$10; Entrées, $18-$24

BYOB.

Cash only.