THE GURGLING COD: Sifton Soundtracks: Colicchio & Sons b/w Ace Frehley "Back in a New York Groove"

Anchower -- the 'Fesser and cinetrix skipped town for la isla del tacos incantandas, and left the laptops at home. More on la isla soon, but for now, the Wednesday business at hand. I woke up this morning expecting blood in the water, in re Colicchio & Sons, considering the beatdown it got from Tables for Two in the NYer I'd caught up with last night:

Unfortunately, Colicchio seems to have become a bit sloppy in the kitchen. Most everything was fine, but only that. A first course of gnocchi offered succulent doses of bone marrow but was unevenly seasoned, giving the middle of the dish a peppery burst and leaving the outer fringes bland. The agnolotti, packets of lemony white-bean purée, came with spongy chunks of octopus and extraneous cubes of chorizo. The loup de mer was nicely cooked, but a stray piece of foil betrayed its method of preparation; the venison, at least, had no major drawbacks, aided by some buttery trumpet mushrooms.

I'd maybe expected more of the same -- Eater had another huevo del gallina at 2-1, and one star at 3-1. But Sifton goes and jacks up a trey like he was John Starks himself. The review is classic issue Sifton -- compelling descriptions of dishes, yoked with slightly more than you want to know about Sifton, himself, -- "Red squab is next, the tiny bird lacquered and crisp, scented with vadouvan, the French-ish curry powder that made its big-market debut on “Top Chef” a few years ago. It tastes of funky sophistication, illicit rides in late-night cabs"

Um, ok. Also, for the sake of comparison:

A cone of squid arrives stuffed with cavalo nero, a kind of black cabbage, over an ebony-ink risotto that itself emerges from a fiery chunked tomato sauce. A stroke of dark sauce — roasted cacao nibs blended into verjus — runs a bass line under the salt and sweet, heightening both.

The folks from the other side of 14th St. had a rather different take on the very same dish:

Sitting in Colicchio and Sons' lofty dining room, a friend and I gaped and poked at her dish. It was a plate of squid-ink risotto, sticky-sweet chocolate sauce, tomato sauce, and a single tentacle, trisected, stuffed with black kale and put back together to resemble a horn. It seemed more like an experiment than an appetizer—flavors clashing, marquee cephalopod languishing on the plate tough and unloved. "I don't think Colicchio's honoring the protein," said my friend.

Given the Alice in Wonderland reset in the review, it would be possible to get away w/ some Tom Petty, and given TC's noted Walter Mitty crush on Slash, G&R would work. But only just. For this moment, something NY-centric and memorable, like, say, that other guy from Kiss forming the missing link between Bo Diddley and LCD Soundsystem.