Review: Nicholas

On the surface, at least, Nicholas seems to have all the right stuff: the friendly, familiar way about the service; the airy interior that seems to have taken a page from some sort of hypothetical Pottery Barn Restaurant catalog; the fashionably local crowd that neither overdresses nor sartorially slums it, bringing to the space the cool, unprepossessingly sophisticated feel of one of those Brooklyn-centric photo spreads in the New York Times Style section.

 

But beneath all the laid-back charm of the surface, Nicholas has some real work to do before it makes the impression it seems to be shooting for. That service, for example, was not terribly knowledgeable about basic aspects of the dining experience. Bread and butter were not brought out to the table until I asked for them. I had to volunteer what temperature I wanted my steak cooked as opposed to be asked about it when my order was taken. A cup of ice was brought out along with the plastic chilling sleeve that the waitress cosseted my wine in. (If I wanted it colder, was I supposed to put the ice in my wine?)

 

This sort of inconsistency manifested itself with the food, too. The dishes that succeeded did so as a result of their smart simplicity. Watermelon soup, though it could have used more of a savory element (crème fraîche would have been perfect) to balance out all of the summery sweetness of its namesake ingredient, was nonetheless a seasonally perfect, Jolly Rancher-pink bowl of pure watermelon-y goodness. The pinky nail-size chunks of the fruit added a nice touch of texture, and the addition of mint oil helped to bring a greater sense of focus to the proceedings, but on the whole it seemed just a touch too one-dimensionally sweet.

 

Spicy chicken grilled flatbread pizza, on the other hand, worked for exactly the opposite reason. All the elements were not only present, but unquestionably balanced. It also answered one of the great questions of our time: Are Buffalo wings better on their own or dipped in blue cheese dressing?

 

Here, at least, was a sense of clarity. Well-grilled flatbread was topped, pizza-style, with tender, moist slices of chicken, a perfectly piquant hot sauce, little riblets of celery, and blue cheese dressing. Each bite, depending on whether there was more meat or celery or sauce, proved to be an unexpected, riveting adventure. Wings, but all grown up and far less messy.

 

The crab cake had the advantage of an accompanying olive oil-rich gazpacho that raised the ante far more than the typical (and often rather boring) aioli that you’re likely to see. And while the consistency of the cake itself was a bit on the soft side, there was precious little filler in there, which meant that the crabmeat itself stood as the focal point.

But the “beef and reef”—sort of a surf and turn in a minor key—was a huge disappointment. The “petite steak” was a gristly, underseasoned palm of meat, curling up at the edges, and actually looked rather sad on the plate. Few things turn me off at the table more than some ginormous side of cow masquerading as a reasonable portion for one (oh, you willfully gluttonous steakhouse chains! Does anyone really need to eat 16 or 20 ounces of steak in a single sitting?), but the size of this one—actually perfectly portioned—was undercut by its lack of flavor or finesse. And the single split prawn off to the side, though deliciously charred and seasoned, was more of a tease than anything else.

 

Desserts were an improvement. The “better than sex chocolate cake” was an understated, savory-sweet homemade affair accompanied, simply and successfully, by a dollop of sweetened whipped cream and nothing else; coffee never had it so good. And “sweet dough with peach coulis”—essentially churros—were snappily fried and paired well with the sweet and ever-so-gentle tart coulis next to them.

 

So while there’s potential at Nicholas, a good bit of work in both the front and back of the house needs to happen before its reputation spreads further beyond the neighborhood. There are too many other great BYOBs, conceived in a similar mold, for a new one to accept good-but-not-great as an end rather then as a means to success.