Black & White
86 E. 10th St.
(212) 253-0246
One and a half stars
AT Black & White, not all is, well, black and white literally and figuratively. For one, the walls are red all over, recalling that old newspaper joke. And Thursday night, walking into this hot new downtown smokers’ haven from Spy Bar co-founder Kelly Cole, things were not as they first seemed, either.
The unexpected sight of a sea of empty tables at a brand-new wannabe hip spot prompted one of our foursome to brightly exclaim, “Well I guess we’ll have no trouble getting seated here!” As if on cue, the hostess appeared and curtly announced that all tables in the rear of the room were reserved, a policy which applies only to groups of six or more.
That left our quartet settling into the only available section two dinky back-to-back tables just inside the front door. This vantage point provided not only a view of the cell-phone users hovering like seagulls outside, but also of the young woman at the next table liberally sprinkling the contents of the salt shaker on her chest. The latest club-kid ritual?, we wondered, until we realized that she’d spilled red wine all over her white T-shirt and was taking anti-stain measures.
Our seating arrangement, plus the amped-up Doors music and chatter from the navel-ring crowd at the bar, made mime the best mode of communication. A grinning waiter (mercifully devoid of attitude) tried his best to help us muddle through. His suggestion of two orders of crab cakes to start was good; the resulting four smallish savory disks had onions and cucumbers on top plus a surprisingly heatless wasabi mayonnaise. Unfortunately, he didn’t warn us about the rock-hard, stingily-filled fried dumplings.
Fried chicken proved to be the big winner on this menu where nothing exceeds $15. The crispy fried snapper wasn’t crispy, but it was tasty and came with delicious, if slightly limp, potatoey fries. The daily pasta special, however, was downright pathetic. Described as farfalle with plum tomato sauce, it was actually overcooked penne in few spoons of watery juice. More respectable noodles have been tossed together in five minutes after a grueling day at the office.
In fact, food seems to be the gray area at Black & White. The dark, tin-ceilinged bistro made a comfy cocoon for a recent rainy-day brunch, but we had to send back our barely cooked bacon and sausage (twice for the links) before it was fit for consumption. Our friendly waitress was all apologies. Not long afterward she and the bartender bolted out of the door in pursuit of a group of diners who had apparently absconded on their bill, paying only a fraction of the total. Too bad they didn’t catch the weasels. To pay off the rest, they could’ve put them to work in the kitchen.