The entry ticket to the Museum of Modern Art not only lets children in free, but there is an option including headphones AND a pizza at the café. Nice idea. Café MoMA itself, with old posters and various designs of overhead lights looks as though it had been decorated independently on three occasions. The metal tables have legs that stick out and an old lady trips and spills her coffee even as I arrive. I try a yellow unsalted bean soup with bits of pasta and real beans in it. Salt is now almost as illegal in the US as smoking is but they will let you have, gratis, little sachets of about three micro-grammes (I take a fistful). Not too bad. But then we are forced to choose between an age-shrivelled chicken leg, soggy cannelloni, a burger, and a compressed ham floating in pineapple and yellow pepper salad. I regret to say I choose a cheeseburger, medium rare, while Fabienne risks the ham.
The beef was overcooked to the texture of silver sand on a Malindi beach and inedible even when covered with ketchup. I scraped off the cheese which had the smooth texture and appearance of axle grease and no discernible flavour. Fabienne’s ham on the other hand was pink, and I dare say contained protein, but it was textureless, as rubbery as it was tasteless. Because of the long line for the cashier everything on our trays was cold before we got to table.
There was a Glen Elden Cabernet Sauvignon and a Chardonnay and various beers: Peroni, Amstel, Heineken. The red wine was foul, but when we managed to find the espresso, it was reasonable. On the whole I think it would have been better to eat one of the many sandwiches on offer or even a bagel on the pavement (sidewalk). On the other hand anyone who has ingested the food served on a BA transatlantic flight cannot really complain about museum food.
On the way out I realise we have been to the wrong restaurant. Sette MoMA is upstairs immediately above the Café and just behind the large Tachist Monet. It is too late to make amends to Fabienne who goes to Paris in shock, so I dine with Pamela, who turns out to be a serious foodie. This adds discipline to the proceedings.
Friday night is altogether different: we are served very courteously by a good looking young Albanian from Kosovo. The Café below is now loud with young people and a Jazz Band, but upstairs all is airiness and quiet. We take a glass of red Sicilian Regalliali which is excellent and a fine Pinot Grigio and a taster of white polenta-like semolina pudding, fresh with rosemary and delicious. Pamela has carciofi with fresh chives and tomato, but complains about the excess of balsamic vinegar. We agree that this is a fad that has been overdone and makes everything taste too sweet. I feel that the sun dried tomato with which my papardelle are flavoured is another fad I can outlive. Meanwhile our Kosovan brings more virgin olive oil and more good ciabatta. The oil is strong and full of flavour, and we remember the old saw about only Italians distinguishing between degrees of virginity. Tell that to Branson.
The beef comes very rare indeed (I asked for it blue), but I like it like this. The chips are tasty but not crisp; they are served under a mat of fried sage and fennel. To finish up, we nibble a torta sbrisolona mantovana, made of polenta and almonds, dry and crumbly and delightful. Neither she nor I had ever even heard of it before. We smoke at the bar over a sweet wine, Pasetto de Pasetto, and both agree on the excellence of wine and cake.
The whole meal is quite pricey at just over $150 for two, but we have done ourselves proud and one could eat here for less (for instance, they charged $5 for the taster of polenta).
This may not be the best gourmet restaurant in New York, but it is far and away the best museum restaurant I have eaten at so far.
o Café MoMA at the Museum of Modern Art
o Sette MoMA at the Museum of Modern Art