Young & Hungry: Flynn McGarry's Gem
We’ve all heard that imitation is flattery in its most sincere form. In the restaurant world we sometimes see how this manifests in terms of style, food, and service. Whether it begins in childhood or later in life, ambitious cooks are taught foundational skills from generations previous: a mother or father, grandparent, or a formal mentor in the culinary arts. As experience grows, the amateur begins to explore his own tastes and curiosities through reading, watching, and—of course—eating. Through history and into the present there have been (and still are) many great legends to learn from and aspire to: Joël Robuchon, Paul Bocuse, the Adrià brothers, Wylie Dufresne, Thomas Keller, Grant Achatz, Daniel Humm and René Redzepi (to name a few). But what cannot be read in a book, taught in a class or learned in a family kitchen must be endured, experienced firsthand; the cook may travel—locally, nationally, or internationally—to create a culinary community and thusly hope to forge an original identity in a sea of flavors and tastes. It is only after this time that we may finally see the chef build an establishment of his own: an embodiment of lessons from the past, exploring societal and cultural fascinations in the present, and creating culinary models for the future.
An adventurous eater will wander from restaurant to restaurant on the hunt for something new. But others may order the same category of dish from various establishments (my father will almost always order any pasta carbonara). Nonetheless, these plates would never be identical to each other; and this is when we examine the qualities iteration and its importance. In the world of fine dining, I believe in the value of nuance, the opportunity for a chef to share his own tastes and experiences with his guests (my father’s favorite carbonara thus far is either from Lupa or the NoMad Hotel). After all, how can one justify paying upwards of $100 for a prix fixe menu that tastes just like one you’ve had before? Even more so, when you return to a beloved restaurant to enjoy the same dishes, there are always subtle differences that may completely change your perceptions. And so to enjoy a chef’s food is to take a moment to wade in the fallibility of the world and the human condition. Seasons change, crops fail, people get sick, or that little sprinkle of finishing salt before serving is forgotten. It’s all part of life, and it is the food we eat that acts as that catalyst to keep us connected to each other and this world around us. In other words, it is these iterations of dishes that keep us curious and help us to understand the cooks in the kitchen and the ingredients they manipulate. So while imitation may be flattering in some instances, I do not believe a regime of such rigidity should be attempted at one’s restaurant.
Chef Flynn McGarry’s adventures through various kitchens are some of his more unconventional childhood memories. At 13 years old he was running a popup dining experience called Eureka in his San Fernando Valley home. He also spent time at Eleven Madison Park and Alinea. He was featured as a cook in one of Quest Love’s ever-popular “Food Salon” series (video here) and had his very own documentary debut in 2018. Thus at Gem, I hoped to experience something bold and possibly questionable, with one hand wriggling through the gastronomy of Gen X and the other taking hold of that millennial sensibility we are all too familiar with. I was also expecting something hip(ster), audacious and nauseously trendy (everything fermented, lots of unusual proteins, Japanese-inspired dishes with no real substance). I was pleasantly surprised to witness and taste some of the opposite. McGarry’s curious mind and aplomb palette reveals that he at least possesses the technical knowledge to execute a proper dish; he has read the books, cooked the food, acquired mentorship, and has received passing marks. Gem shows us that McGarry is incredibly dedicated to not only the craft of cooking but also the culture of fine dining. Indeed, his mature sense of hospitality inflected with a boyish charm makes Gem as precious as its name. But finding one’s voice as a chef in the fine dining world is a great challenge and must bring an immense amount of pressure. When some voices speak louder than others, how do you ensure that one does not drown in a hegemony of tweezer food, foams, and edible spheres? As innovations and access to knowledge and each other increase, the ability to “find oneself” in any aspect is harder than ever. The emotional and existential angst of youth in addition to running a business? I give McGarry all the credit he deserves.
I arrived at Gem for its second of two seatings (9pm). I was situated parallel to the exposed and shockingly small kitchen: it is hard to believe that a tiny convection oven and a team of no more than a dozen cooks crank out two rounds of tasting menus (32 people each night, if full) composed of ten plus courses. Chef Flynn, a boy of just 20 years, works quietly among his team. His head of fiery red hair refuses to leave my peripheral all night.
The first course was a take on a chawanmushi: steamed egg custard served with trout roe and finger lime. Imagine smooth, salty little fish eggs popping gently in your mouth. Following close behind is then a tinge of acid from that tiny lime; its tartness melds with roe to turn salty into a slightly unpleasant bitterness. Unfortunately, there is neither relief nor comfort found in the silky steamed egg; its blandness is reminiscent of warmed, silken tofu out of the box. A dish with a Japanese sensibility, but lacking substance and flavor; the millennial rendition in its truest form! Not the most pleasing way to open the show, but I was eager to try more.
After a serving of two iterations of scallop, a third seafood dish is presented: thin strips of king crab laid in a delicate pile and wading in a translucent liquid made of grapefruit and rose. Rounding out the dish are the vegetal scents flavors of leek, but most pleasing to me was the beautiful Sancerre as an accompaniment. It is a shame that the chef himself could not (legally) partake in this combination; the dish sang in perfect harmony to accentuate the citrus of grapefruit and sweetness of the crab.
Left: with cheese and fig leaf oil. Right: ahi dolce pepper, radish, and pine
Taking a break from protein-centric courses, a series of vegetable dishes came next. The first was a “tortellini”. A “low-carb” take (millennial!) has shells made of lightly treated Swiss chard and envelops tiny balls of blended ricotta and pistachio. The ricotta is not quite able to tame the bitterness of the nut and vegetable together, but Iappreciate the chef’s playful reimagination of the humble pasta. The breadcrumb atop the “pasta” was good texturally, but I what I really wanted was that bite which only comes from the perfect al dente execution.
Next to the table: a sliver of lightly treated cabbage accompanied by an intriguing “kale and oyster emulsion”. Upon tasting the vegetable and sauce together, the charred ends of the cabbage became quite mellow, reminding me of the sweet and tender braised cabbage my mom used to make. Surprisingly I could understand just how important the essence of the oyster was to this dish. You could still taste its brininess completely, but the various combinations of sweet, salt, and bitter came together in a state of umami that almost didn’t make me wish the cabbage were stuffed with pork and rice. However, the vegetable high I was riding came tumbling down when a salt baked sweet potato with cured tuna and hollandaise came to the table. I couldn’t wrap my head around it, and neither could my taste buds.
The following course required the presence of McGarry and a fellow cook. On a platter was half of a large, roasted and still-steaming pumpkin. McGarry began to scrape away at its innards and plate a small quenelle of the squash in front of me. Added to the dish was some black pepper and a mornay sauce. The simplicity of the dish speaks for itself, in addition to the visible joy on McGarry’s face upon serving his guests. Indeed, he is proud of how wonderfully the plate’s flavors come together. But while the dish was a perfect example of how to treat a vegetable, its flavors lacked any sort of originality to excite me upon eating it: roasted pumpkin; salt and pepper; a cheese sauce. McGarry’s understanding of seasonality makes itself utterly clear, but I think he has a little more creativity inside of him that needs to peek out.
And then I finally tasted the originality I was looking for. Sitting pretty on a tiny plate and napkin was a small chicken skin “chip” with a spread of snail (yes, smashed and spread snail) and topped with slices of radish, pumpkin seeds and a pumpkin mole. Original? Yes. Sensory overload? Also yes. Take a look at the picture and I think you may understand. I couldn’t even find an angle to make this dish appear more attractive. Sadly, the peppery radish and mole weren’t the best of friends, and the richness of the snail with fried chicken began to weigh me down. I like the concept of the dish nonetheless; with some revision I am sure that something with a similar sensibility and more refined flavors will come together.
With two more courses to go, I was hoping for some lighter fare to reopen my mind to the idea of dessert. First it was a “celery root au vin”; a playful take on the popular poultry dish. On the plate, I cannot deny its simple beauty. Shades of red, a pure white dollop of celery root, and a golden brown crisp of what I believed to be more chicken skin. The tender meat (and red hue) of the vegetable played an excellent mind game as I felt comfort similar to what I would feel as if eating meat and potatoes on a cold winter night. The dish was straightforward, expertly devised, and utterly delicious. Finally, the grand finale: Served on beds of pine needles are many variations of duck. There was the breast, legs turned into croquets, hearts on skewers with olives and cherries, and a rye chip with a mousse made of the bird’s liver. If that weren’t enough, a server came back with a duck broth poured out of a teakettle and into a china teacup for you to sip. I was utterly overwhelmed, but I won’t complain about overstuffing myself on a beautifully treated duck breast. Alas it’s not over yet: McGarry approaches the table with two slivers of smoked duck draped over a pinecone—“because I thought serving something off of a pinecone would be funny”. I hoped the young chef would find carrying me out of the restaurant on a stretcher just as humorous. Nonetheless McGarry’s strategy worked: all that fatty, salty and succulent duck left me craving something sweet; and so a slice of quince tarte tatin was swiftly brought to the table. The dough was nothing short of perfection. The quince was moist, tender, and wonderfully caramelized; the right balance of butter and sugar made each bite as joyful as the next. As my meal came to a close, I was full, satisfied and…somewhat perplexed.
What is most troubling for me is that I struggle to understand what exactly Gem is as a restaurant. While it is certainly fine dining by ways of atmosphere, experience, and price-point ($155 per menu in January for 8-10 dishes; an extra $100 for beverage pairing), I believe that it still has yet to access its full potential. Presently McGarry’s food lacks the sensibility of a chef whose confidence allows him to put his true style on display. While I can clearly see who has influenced his food, I have yet to discover the food of a chef that may begin to define a new generation of cooks. Gem shows us that McGarry knows how to walk down the path of haute cuisine; he understands how to properly manipulate ingredients and ensure each guest is properly fed and taken care of. He is dedicated to the discipline of cooking and the vigilance of hospitality, and only 20 years old. But I sympathize with McGarry: how can one manage a business, find the time to experiment, and cultivate the confidence needed to present original dishes all while trying to break away from the label of a “talented teen chef”? In this establishment, McGarry puts his whole person on display with nowhere to hide, something I could not imagine enduring at only 20. And so I’ve concluded that Gem gives us an opportunity unlike any other. You enter a space knowing of this so-called wunderkid but you don’t know exactly what could be in store. Yes, some of the food is questionable, and some may scoff at a 20 year-old trying to have his own restaurant in New York City. But what we diners get to experience first-hand is the many and forthcoming iterations of Gem, McGarry, and his food. Thus I look forward for the opportunity to return to the restaurant, and I feel privileged to be able to witness and taste McGarry’s and Gem’s journey of discovery.
Photo from the restaurant’s website
***Dinner at Gem for the month of February will increase to $180pp with 12-15 courses.