Home Again: Hearth and the New Foodie
/härTH/
Noun: the floor of a fireplace, used as a symbol of one’s home
Situated on the bustling corner of 12th and 1st avenue, the entrance to the east village restaurant emanates its namesake. Most would expect the front door to be parallel to the avenue, making its presence known and welcoming passersby. But Hearth’s front door is—possibly strategically placed—on 12th street, away from the noise and crowd, augmenting the appeal. Thus as you approach, you are overcome with a blissful nostalgia, reminiscent of walking in to an old friend’s home for a simple yet intimate celebration of life and food; a pure and approachable Tuscan-American restaurant. It therefore comes as no surprise as to why Chef Marco Canora (find him here) was the winner of James Beard’s Best Chef: New York City in 2017. But what’s most impressive about Hearth is not its décor or curb appeal, but its dialectical engagement in exploring two various components of the modern dining experience. This restaurant is exactly what I want this blog to be about; I am overjoyed that I can write and share my delicious discoveries with all of you, and I hope that you too will take your journey to this restaurant I now lovingly refer to as “my home away from home”.
When you first walk inside Hearth, the colors of the interior trigger an immediate sense of calm. With cooler shades of blue offset by rods of iron and copper pots, the exposed brick and wood envelop you in a comfort that only a cozy winter cabin or humble Italian flat could replicate. Indeed, you relax in a manner one only feels after coming inside from either many long hours in the cold or a sticky, slow day in the sun. Although the space is packed with tables, it feels surprisingly spacious. The dining area is dimly lit during dinner hours and tricks the mind into believing that the restaurant is not as cacophonous as it seems. Near the entrance is a small but well-stocked bar: solo diners, business partners, blossoming romances and new acquaintances sit side-by-side, enjoying a glass of wine or quirky cocktail (try the scotch-forward By the Broad Bay). Despite the array of conversation whirling around you, every table seems to be in its own world, enveloped in its own story and—with the assistance of small wooden boxes for diners to conceal their phones—totally focused on each other, enjoying a moment of connection that can only be achieved when accompanied by a delicious meal.
However, my first time at Hearth was a Friday night, 8:30pm. I was able to sit at one of the last seats open at the counter, exposing me to the kitchen. Note that the restaurant’s floor plan is not completely open concept. The dining room occupies the largest portion of the restaurant; the kitchen comprises a section that one must (literally) take a step into. I was seated comfortably beside the pass, excited to sneak peeks at the vegetable-forward, market-driven menu. Taking a moment to understand Hearth in its entirety, I found this separation of an open kitchen and dining room intriguing. Although no less than 8 feet away, I still felt a great deal of distance between myself and the pleasant raucous of the dining room. I therefore surmised that I was about to engage in an experience vastly different, enveloped by the action of the kitchen before me: I was seduced by the movements of the cooks, captured by the scents of the summer season, and watched with full attention how the team prepared and presented dishes with a balance of urgency and ease. Furthermore, those boxes to hide away your phone are nowhere to be found at the kitchen’s counter. And then then it hit me: This, I thought to myself, is fine dining at Hearth.
The Hearth Values
When we decide to venture out for a meal in the city, there are those who look for a spectacle, or those that want to come together among friends. Sometimes the food—whether good or bad—may only be a secondary factor of the experience. Of course, there are many that enjoy “dinner and a show”, but you must admit that when there is even an inkling of a “foodie moment” (a video, a picture, a boomerang, etc…) a piece of smart-tech sits eagerly in your hand, waiting to capture and archive that moment forever. They’re two sides of the same gastronomic coin, but what Hearth does so beautifully via its design is that it gives the diner a choice, a “choose your own adventure” game of food.
I’ll explain through one of the 12 dishes I had—both at the counter and later in the dining room—from the $78 tasting menu (a reasonable and delicious to-do at Hearth). It is a beef tartare with shishitos and cheddar, topped with fried, crispy potato “chips”. At the counter, the dish feels artful: is a beautiful sphere of pink flesh whose delectability is only further heighted by the green shishitos glistening under the kitchen florescents. The handful of fried potato on top thusly feels like a cheeky and approachable gesture for dish always perceived as culinary luxury. Before taking my first bite, I take a lovely aerial shot, telling my dining companion to “wait a moment” before she penetrates perfection with that fork in her hand. Then, content with my captured image, I taste. The meat establishes a perfect balance between chew and soft. Its flesh is not overly fatty—it is salted to a degree that only allows your taste buds to further acknowledge the salt on the potato chip, bringing the texture of crunch into opposition with the beef’s buttery mouthfeel. Thus as the potato crackling dissolves on the tongue, you are still enjoying that meat slowly melt away. Finally, the shishito offers a tiny endorphin rush of heat that carries you from one blissful moment to the next, gently tantalizing you to take a second bite.
But when seated at the table, this dish feels utterly different. Just as before, it was delivered alongside a market tomato salad with cannellini beans and basil, and a dish of smashed cucumbers and melon with turmeric yogurt, garnished with poppy seeds; two wonderfully refreshing accompaniments. Seated among friends, we pass the dishes around to take a morsel of each. After my first bite of tartare, I am slightly perplexed. In my mind, even its appearance is somehow different; there is something more…comforting about its presentation. It is welcomed to the table with open arms and smiling faces as an equal rather than an artistic delicacy. My fellow diners are impressed by its taste; “a sexy meat and potatoes” one remarks. We all laugh together, and the dish recalls a memory of one Thanksgiving, where my mother whipped a bowl of mashed potatoes so vigorously that we had to wipe down the kitchen’s walls splattered with butter and cream. And so, it was this moment that the dish’s utter simplicity was brought into focus; no longer was I witnessing a dish I had perceived as a delectable display of technique and culinary comprehension. Hidden from the view of preparation and execution, my table was presented with a dish whose flavors and textures were reminiscent of home, as if a pair of familiar hands were hard at work in the kitchen preparing one of your favorite meals. With my phone locked away in that tiny wooden box, I could not take a picture. This was truly a moment—living, breathing, and fleeting. I ate more slowly, taking my time to converse in between bites rather than think about which filter to apply. Thus, the worry of a hashtag-worthy dish faded away into that pleasant raucous of living, and I looked around my table with joy and satisfaction knowing that we are making those living, breathing, and fleeting memories together.
Lamb Meatballs
So if you want to snap those instagramable photos—then I recommend taking a comfortable seat at the counter: if you want a video for your “story”, your content creation is welcomed and appreciated (just be sure to tag @hearthrestaurant); and if you want to send a snap of culinary delight to your friends—ensue all the jealousy you want, and be sure to record a moment of the cooks hard at work. But if you want to try a tech-free zone, then sit at a table, put the phones in the box, and do your best to maintain some eye contact with your comrades. Ultimately this is what makes Hearth so special. As the diner, you have the power to curate your dining experience. At the counter you witness the performance; you see firsthand how that skate wing with capers and green beans becomes so delicately fried and encrusted, and you question how its flesh still somehow manages to flake apart so beautifully with your utensil’s intervention. You watch how the sautéed market greens with garlic and lemon—an incredibly simple dish—are treated with such care and attention that, once tasted, the season’s bounty shines with all its glory.
But at a table: the etiquette of an audience member and the notion of a spectacle dissipates, and you feel more at ease as you create not only intimate memories with friends, but also cultivate your memory of taste. No longer is a plate of food forever sealed away in the void of your phone’s photo library, existing in a static universe of hard drives, pixels, and “likes”. You take a moment to use your eyes rather than a lens to see that plate of juicy lamb meatballs covered in a tangy summer tomato sauce and sprinkled with parmesan; the bowl of potato gnocchi with sage butter akin to tiny snowflakes: pillowy in appearance, and no two alike. You go to taste rather than risk the dish go cold while staging an artificial moment, and they enter your mouth with a softness that falls apart the way you know it should—you do not find yourself licking the roof of your mouth, trying to remove a gummy, gluey mess. And the gorgeous (whole wheat!) maccheroni: a well-executed al dente preparation that provides a justified contrast between the pasta dishes (and you always feel less guilty when you carboload among friends). The smell of its succulent pork ragù wafts into your nostrils, the steam seductively undulating through the room: it is a hypnotic moment that an image could never hope to capture. And as you take a bite topped off with creamy ricotta, you are further wrapped in that welcoming warmth of Hearth.
There is something I have to admit: while I was more than pleased with both my meals at the restaurant, I found my dinner spent at the table much more enjoyable than my meal at the counter. As someone who will almost always take a seat closest to the kitchen, I was slightly taken aback. Now that I have had the time to write and reflect, I see now that while Hearth is an upscale, fine dining experience, you do not always need proof of that experience. Remember that this blog takes a stand against our typical perceptions of the modern foodie. Although I do label myself as such, it does not always mean I will be sitting with an electronic device in-hand waiting to snap a picture. I am focused on expanding my photo beyond the frame: I want the foodie to acknowledge that a restaurant is so much more than a pretty plate. Thus you do not always need to feel so compelled to record and archive in these material manners, posting something online and waiting for that miniscule dopamine high that occurs after each “like”. I want to argue that we can find a longer lasting sense of enjoyment through a more connected and grounded comprehension of the intersecting avenues of food. Understanding where the ingredients come from, expressing gratitude to those who provided, and surrounding ourselves with those we love… these are the things that I hope will become the new “foodie moment”.
But remember that neither I nor Hearth will judge you for your choice of dining experience. Truly, this restaurant acknowledges that there is a time and place for everything, whether it is to take beautiful photos or find refuge with friends and family. This restaurant is a place that wants its guests to discover the holistic nature of food and the various ways in which we interact with it. Indeed, Hearth goes above and beyond to reinforce this notion through its Hearth for Home meal kit program: a biweekly pickup kit “…for people who use their kitchens, find joy in the cooking process, and believe that eating well is about more than just nourishment—it’s a force of connection and responsibility to each other and to our planet” (more info here). Thus whether seated at a counter, a restaurant table, or in your own home, Hearth is a hub for conversation, a space where peoples and ideas come together and a respect for food flourishes. My adventures at Hearth have shown me the various ways individuals can engage with food, and that is way I am making it indefinitely F.O.O.D.I.E approved.
Ingredients from Hearth for Home