THENEWYORKER,APRIL11, 2022 9
PHOTOGRAPH BY TONJE THILESEN FOR THE NEW YORKER; ILLUSTRATION BY JOOST SWARTE
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TABLESFORTWO
Ernesto’s
259 East Broadway
If anyone objects to the union of two
types of anchovies in the pintxo matrimo
nio al ajillo at Ernesto’s, a Basque-lean-
ing restaurant on the Lower East Side,
speak now and I will eat yours for you.
The matrimony of a boqueron (plump,
meaty, and white, pickled in wine vine-
gar and olive oil) and an anchoa (a dark,
skinny, salt-cured umami bomb) is holy
indeed, made holier by the kitchen’s de-
cision to mount the pair, like prostrate
wedding-cake toppers, on a rectangle of
delicately crisp, buttery pastry. Though
the fillets are separated by a neat line of
ajillo, a zingy condiment of parsley and
garlic, each bite brings them together in
perfect harmony.
I have a feeling that none of the ingre-
dients in the tortilla abierta con Cinco Jotas,
meanwhile, are married, and if they are
it’s not to one another. This is not to say
that the chemistry isn’t electric—to put
it politely, this may be the most lascivious
dish I’ve ever encountered, an orgy of egg
and potato browned on the edges and left
unflipped (abierta means “open”) before
it’s slipped from pan to plate. Set atop a
wavy wafer-thin cracker, which turns it
into finger food, it’s layered with slices
of acorn-fed paleta ibérico, produced by
the hundred-and-forty-year-old Spanish
brand Cinco Jotas. (Paleta comes from
a pig’s shoulder, as opposed to jamón,
from the hind.) Finished with a generous
blanket of soft curls of heady black truffle,
it’s a sloppy, salty, slightly stupefying dish.
Truffle is an expensive ingredient
that’s so often used cheaply, in the figu-
rative sense, to peddle the idea of luxury,
regardless of whether it truly belongs in
a dish. On the tortilla, it felt essential to
the bewitching depth of flavor, as did
foie gras that had been melted into a port
reduction spooned over beautifully rosy
slices of grilled duck magret. You can
spend a small fortune eating at Ernesto’s,
but you can also, in my experience, trust
the kitchen, led by the chef-partner Ryan
Bartlow, who previously worked in San
Sebastian, Spain; at Alinea, in Chicago;
and at the Frankies Spuntino restaurant
group and Frenchette, in New York.
Bartlow knows just what to do with
less flashy ingredients, too. The ensa
lada mixta, an unexpectedly beautiful ar-
rangement of Little Gem lettuce hearts,
shredded carrot, wedges of beet, silky
segments of fat white asparagus, green
olives, white onion, and grated hard-
boiled egg, is thoroughly satisfying with
or without the optional addition of ol-
ive-oil-cured tuna from Cantabria. In
Catalonia, a bikini is a pressed sandwich,
named for a Barcelona concert hall, the
type of thing you can imagine scarfing
late at night on a street corner to stave
off a hangover. At Ernesto’s, the Bikini
Hemingway—house-made txistorra (a
spicy, quick-cured sausage), Menorcan
cheese, and sweet shrimp sheathed in
slices of crunchy pan de cristal, or glass
bread—is quartered, fanned elegantly,
and drizzled with honey.
Even a plate of braised vegetables can
be a little sexy: cross-sections of leek,
standing upright, brush shoulders with
turnips carved to have gemlike facets,
pale slivers of pea pod, and geometric
knobs of carrot, all glossy with cook-
ing liquid and sprinkled with Espelette
pepper. And though the macarrones con
hongos is essentially stovetop mac and
cheese, there’s nothing childlike about
it; the pasta is enrobed in a velvety sauce,
sharp with Idiazabal cheese and garlic,
and topped with crispy maitake, yellow-
foot, and black-trumpet mushrooms and
a splash of parsley oil.
I can’t help finding it corny that it’s
Ernesto’s as in Ernest, as in Heming-
way, but if Papa is Bartlow’s muse, so
be it—the mood here, in an oasis of a
dining room on a fairly desolate block,
is as romantic as the food. The enor-
mous round-edged, globe-lit bar is an
especially nice place to sit, not least
because of the easy-drinking yet civi-
lized cocktails, including the 5 Finger
Martini, made with two types of ver-
mouth and sherry instead of the hard
stuff, and a bright, effervescent Span-
ish G. & T., with wheels of lime and
grapefruit and sprigs of rosemary in a
goblet running over. (Dishes $10$42.)
—Hannah Goldfield
