During the olden days of what used to be called “haute cuisine,” the path to fame and fortune for ambitious young cooks led through the grand kitchens of Paris, and from there to large, spangled dining rooms in San Francisco or New York. In the age of what this magazine recently (and hilariously) described as the great “artisanal delirium,” however, all of that has changed. Instead of grandiose dining rooms, high-minded chefs now open small, out-of-the-way “tasting rooms.” Tablecloths, menus, and even cutlery are out; discreet, mini-size dining counters are in. Precociously talented chefs still take inspiration from the superstars of Europe (in the age of artisanal delirium, that superstar is the master forager René Redzepi, of Restaurant Noma in Copenhagen), but these days, the comforting rhythm of the à la carte menu has been replaced by a blizzard of seasonally attuned tasting “bites,” which take an entire evening to consume.
Or so it occurred to me as I sipped my carefully crafted (and undeniably delicious) rhubarb-tinged Shandy Shrubb cocktail at Atera, the polished, ambitious new tasting atelier that opened with little fanfare (but much hysterical Internet buzz) several weeks ago in Tribeca. Like the city’s other tiny, hyperfashionable tasting rooms (Momofuku Ko, Brooklyn Fare), this one is anonymously located on the ground floor of a nondescript commercial building. The frosted windows shield the dimly lit room from the outside world, and in the evenings, the entrance of the eye-and-ear clinic next door is hidden behind thick green curtains. One entire wall is covered with an arrangement of potted plants designed to look like foliage in a wild forest, and diners nibble at their omakase dinners at a slate-colored bar, which is made from polished concrete and built around the gleaming open kitchen, like the bridge of a ship.
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