Good eatin' and not so good

Yesterday afternoon, after I'd mailed off a too-long-delayed package and was rewarding myself with a trip to my crappy local used bookstore, I happened to pass by the shiny new home of the Annoyance Theatre just north of the reknown Green Mill. But even more exciting (since it's not a theatre company whose work has ever captured my interest) was the appearance of a dapper new restaurant, Marigold.

The warm reddish-ochre walls (16' high!), iridescent blue tile, and dark-stained wood demanded a closer look, so I waltzed in and found it'd only been open for three days after striking up a chat with the New Delhi-born owner. He shared his vision of upscale Indian food and I talked a menu out of him; when I showed it to monshu a few hours later, he was impressed to the point of suggesting we give it a try the next night.

ottr4bear biked down in the afternoon and the three of us met up with Nuphy at the Ginza. (Short review: Flawless weather, lovely but pricey Waza pottery, hunky Aikidoists, and sunburn.) In the early evening, we rode the 36 Broadway up to the restaurant and found it abuzz with employees and almost empty of diners. As a result, the service verged on the oversolicitous. (I shouldn't have to tell anyone more than once not to clear a plate with food on it.) But we forgave them; they were bored.

The waitress was a different matter. After dinner, when the co-owner asked us for an honest review of everything, we hemmed and hawed looking for the right euphemism. For the record, "too much personality" is my code for "exhuberant to the point of screechiness, way too familiar, and generally nerve-wracking". Every time she came to the table, you could see the ripple of tension as we traded fearful looks with our eyes; ottr was prepared to cast her (complete with her incessant "pumpkins" and "darlins") in an updated version of No Exit.

But with any luck they'll lose her while retaining their amazing chef. There wasn't a sour note in anything we ordered, from my sea scallops with garam masala to Nuphy's coriander-crusted red snapper. The samosas weren't at all overdone, simply done perfectly. monshu's vindaloo had a bit too much heat for me, but he praised it repeatedly for not being "dumbed down", and the level was just right on my lamb chops. Every bite was bursting with flavour but I could've drunk hot tea immediately afterwards without feeling I was injuring my mouth.

The crème brûlée was a revelation. Funny flavours of it have become so cliché that I'd immediately disregarded it as a choice, but steeping the cream overnight in fresh slices of ginger was enough to win me over. We'll be back as much as my pocketbook will allow. (Figure $20-30/person before alcohol unless you've got some really light eaters.) As compensation, the wine list is extremely reasonable and looks pretty solid to my ignorant eyes.

It was a splendid way to cap a week that began on a less-than-promising note with a long-awaited visit to Olé Olé in Andersonville. I'd been hearing very positive things about the food and figured that, on a Tuesday, the noise level might actually be manageable--and it was. We also had a total charmer of a waiter: Very gay, very friendly, but with some sense of boundaries. (Please quit and replace the pink-clad witch!)

The food was--frankly--bland. The best thing I can say about the pulpo a la plancha is that it wasn't too chewy, although it was getting there. Where was the olive oil, much less any seasoning? My pork loin read great on the page but was dull and dry in real life. The description of the glaze sounded like too much of a good thing, but turned out to be not nearly enough. At a typical American bistro, that'd be bad news; at a pan-Latin themed one it's fatal. There is no reason for this place to exist within walking distance of La Fonda. It's not actively bad, but, honey, you can do so much better.