Nomad’s Brass restaurant reminds diners of the golden age
Brass is a restaurant that makes grown-ups feel younger. It has all the buzz of an Instagram-powered eatery aimed at the Gen Z trust-fund crowd but with a higher comfort level, professional service and a French-American menu that makes “traditional” seem trendy.
Tucked deep inside the century-old Evelyn Hotel at 7 E. 27th St., plush-and-pretty Brass is an Art Deco-inspired jewel box. Meant to evoke the “golden age” of New York society, it’s the newest entry in the mushrooming Nomad hotel-dining scene, which now includes Cafe Carmellini at the Fifth Avenue Hotel, Jose Andres’ Bazaar and Zaitainiya at the Ritz-Carlton Nomad and Cecconi’s at The Ned.
Brass is the brainchild of the duo behind wildly popular bistro/wine bar Wildair, Jeremiah Stone and Fabián von Hauske Valtierra. They teamed up with owner Nick Hatsatouris to take over what was previously Benno, a high-end Italian spot that fell victim to the pandemic.
A selection of the dishes at Brass: Amish chicken for two, Pork shoulder, Steelhead Trout and Ricotta gnudi. OLGA GINZBURG FOR THE NEW YORK POST
The cosy interior of Brass restaurant, which is new to the NoMad area, on E27th street. OLGA GINZBURG FOR THE NEW YORK POST
Brass opened with 70 seats last month soon after its “sister” venue Tusk Bar, the same team’s rowdy cocktails-and-oysters lounge down the hall. Hatsatouris said customers might “start their evening at Tusk Bar, then move to Brass.” Each is its own venue but given how hard tables are to come by at Brass, you can’t just pop in after you slosh your way through a few King Tusk martinis at Tusk.
The house was subdued on my first visit, a Monday. Sexy with suede-and-leather banquettes, white tablecloths and 1920s-influenced frescos — and an antique piano in the middle of the floor — suggested a party waiting to start. A few couples engaged in lonely canoodles while others gazed up curiously through the skylight at a brick wall.
But the place catches fire on other nights. On my recent Wednesday visit, the glamour level matched the food. Every meal should start with a ring of eight, buttery, Gruyere cheese gougeres that can fill you if you aren’t careful.
Black truffles and rich, autumnal sauces tint the menu without overpowering it. I loved crispy tartlets of crab and maitake mushrooms with a tiny truffle on top and pillowy ricotta gnudi. Steelhead trout with smoked trout roe and delicate citrus sauce was pink and delectable under crisp skin.
American Wagyu steak and pork shoulder in mustard sauce, both ordered medium-rare, were under-done and over-chewy; even my beef-loving friend who can eat raw armadillo found the steak challenging to tooth or knife (although he did finish it).
Brass’ Amish chicken roulade is a highlight of the menu and enough to feed three to four people OLGA GINZBURG FOR THE NEW YORK POST
The entrance to Brass within the Evelyn hotel, with some of its Art Deco inspiration on display. The dining room is tucked behind the red curtain. OLGA GINZBURG FOR THE NEW YORK POST
A server bringing out one of the menu highlights, Ricotta Gnudi. OLGA GINZBURG FOR THE NEW YORK POST
The signature Brass Cup dessert, which features concord grape granita on top of popcorn ice cream. OLGA GINZBURG FOR THE NEW YORK POST
The house pride is deboned Amish chicken roulade in a luxury key. The breast and leg are wrapped in skin, stuffed with sausage and sliced in rounds under an herb and truffle mousseline. The bird, deep- flavored and moist, graduated from B-plus to an A with a light bath of additional jus. Be sure to ask for it if there isn’t enough on the tray. It’s $120 but easily feeds three or four normal humans.
It was hard to top, but the best dessert — “Brass Cup” — was as much fun as it was ridiculous, with crackling concord grape granita on top of popcorn ice cream.
The only bummer at Brass is the soundtrack. One night it lurched randomly between romantic, French cabaret vocals and hard-core funk/rap. Another time, it came and went like a siren in the night.
To avoid it, go on Tuesday, Friday or Saturday night when the piano is played by a human being — and the “golden age” almost lives again.
