The Standard Grill: High Line, Lowly Treatment

November 8, 11:15 PMNY Restaurant ExaminerSara Vigrass

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The bar area
www.thestandardgrill.com

I’ve been dying to try the Standard Grill ever since the high line opened a few blocks from my apartment. The restaurant’s home in the Standard Hotel at the high line has made it nearly impossible to get a table at a decent dining time, unless of course you own a black AMEX or you’re friends with the models…I mean hostesses. My friends and I decided to dine at a later time, hoping for a less intensive wait.

“Forty-five minutes”, said the petite, fashionable hostess. Deal. We planted ourselves in the large bar area.

Because I had a grueling evening prior to the visit, I opted to only drink water. My other hung-over friend joined me in saturating our strained bodies. The third friend ordered a mojito-ish drink made with whiskey instead of rum. The drink was made with Wild Turkey. Since the price of the drink was equal to half a bottle of the whiskey at the liquor store, the price of this lower level booze was laughable at best. The bartender’s attitude, however, was far from laughable. It was downright rude. I couldn’t assess if he was being funny or just a jerk when he questioned my audacity to sit at the bar when I wasn’t drinking. I looked around the room and noticed that mostly men in suits were standing.  Since it was so late on a Sunday evening, the bar area was not very full.  I was sitting because I was in heels, I am a lady and any of the standing gentleman, drinking or not, should not have expected to take my seat from me. That is chivalry; a concept that seems to be dying, at least in the eyes of the bartender.  I was actually about to order a non-alcoholic drink before he made the comment, but I treated my free water as a picket sign and merely asked for more.

Forty-five minutes? An hour and twenty minutes later we were still waiting for our table. The ironic part was that there seemed to be plenty of open tables available, waiting to be bussed. Could they be keeping these open in case someone more important showed up?

After much prodding on our part we were finally taken to our table. I laughed. Even though there were four-tops available, the hostess was trying to squeeze us into a tiny two-top that couldn’t possibly hold our food and drinks. Parties of two were occupying four-tops and she expected us to squeeze? I felt like they were trying to hide us away and scoot us to the side. Even the hostess honestly seemed surprised that they were trying to put us here and went to see if it was a mistake. It wasn’t. Luckily my smooth-talking friend discussed his previous restaurant experience with the manager and demanded that the situation be remedied. My other friend insisted on being told why we couldn’t sit at one of the other open tables. Two minutes later we were seated at one of the empty four-tops. My previous question as to “if they were keeping those tables open for ‘special’ diners” was confirmed.

The evening seemed to pick up a bit once we were seated. The waiter was actually very sweet, though not entirely knowledgeable, as he continued to take away our plates before the entire table had finished eating. The busboy seemed downright nervous. This was probably due to the fact that he was new to the scene or because he had been forewarned about the grumpy, non-drinking diners at table seven.

The appetizers started off promising. The foie gras terrine was a reasonable portion for the price and was salted nicely. A curry-spiced quail was also tender and nicely seasoned. The squash soup was downright tasty. I was getting excited to try the main courses.

The halibut was a nice size and was cooked perfectly. However, it had absolutely no flavor. Though it came with a béarnaise sauce, I would expect the fish to be able to hold its own. The béarnaise sauce tasted mostly like salt and was extremely disappointing. The papperdelle with braised rabbit and mushrooms was as bland as it was colorless. The rabbit lacked its usual gamey flavor and the papperdelle tasted like noodles with brown gravy. The most humorous part of the meal was the asparagus that came as the halibut’s side. Three stringy, over-cooked veggies marred the plate. I would have rather they just gave us the halibut on a smaller plate; fooling my eyes to believe I was getting more for my money.

The dessert was a surprise. In a place with so many airs and so much haughtiness, I did not expect them to serve a bowl of chocolate mousse with chunks of brownies and mounds of whipped cream. To top it off, we were each given a spatula to eat with, promoting both the idea of stealing batter from the bowl, and spreading H1N1. The taste of shared brownies and bacteria was awesome. If the management decides to change the place’s image (and bartender), I may return to try this again.

The evening, though it had its ups and downs was not a complete loss. I have to say that the best part of the evening was the company. My generous friends picked up my tab ending my evening on a note that was sweeter than brownie batter.