BlackBook Magazine

Because it feels so good to be bad.

By Katherine Faw Morris

I can’t think of anything that wouldn’t taste good fried. Doughnuts? Duh. Snickers bars? Scrumptious. Beef Beignet? Bring it on. Everything can benefit from a skinny dip in popping peanut oil. A fact not lost on BarFry, a new West Village emporium centered around the belly bombing art of tempura. That most non-kimono, anti-geisha, un-origami of Japanese imports. Abandoning my cherry blossom hairpiece, I came prepared to tackle BarFry with a sumo wrestler’s stomach of steel, determined not to be bucked by this wild ride of fried.

The love child of starry Sumile chef Josh DeChellis, BarFry is a refined take on the traditional Japanese tempura bar, even offering a size zero-friendly batter promising minimized oil retention and all night crispiness. With partner Rick Camac of rare Meatpacking maturities 5 Ninth and Fatty Crab, DeChellis has created an intimate, casual white tiled spot in the haute cafeteria vein, much favored by the Greenmarket Mafia threatening to overtake the Manhattan restaurant world, wielding only swords of asparagus and shields of local lasagna. There was something refreshing, then, in settling down to the familiar leather banquette and white marble table, not for quail egg and dandelion greens, but for some deep fried jump shrimp, tail on. It’s good to be bad.

And about those shrimp. They were my favorite of the selection of tempura I tried, all served in a large wooden bento box fitted with a stainless steel drying rack. The snappy shrimp were loosely clad in a light and fluffy tempura casing, creating the ideal skin-to-flesh ratio. The cod was also top tier. Less beer gut-y than you might find in fish and chips, the buoyancy of the mild white fish shined through while still holding tight to the fryer’s mantra: crispy on the outside, creamy in the middle. The yellowfin tuna scared me at first - a browned and breaded maki roll, raw red screaming out from the center. My I’m-going-to-totally-die salmonella senses were on high alert. But it was totally fine. Sushi grade wrapped in cracklings and actually quite the lip-smacker. Plus it gave me a chance to overreact, and that’s fun.

I was less excited about the pumpkin, which was unfortunate because I always have high hopes for anything involving Thanksgiving. The veggie, however, was obscured in its bubbly wrap, leaving more of the taste of the batter itself than cranberry sauce, suspicious stuffing, and tryptophan-induced catatonia. Luckily a beef beignet, the most new-fangled item on the a la carte tempura menu, helped me reel in my pumpkin pathos. Basically a doughnut with a fermented short rib filling, it is every bit as decadent as it sounds and not recommended for those with pacemakers. A selection of sauces are available for dipping these leaden delicacies, including a red chili citrus, jalapeno soy, and wasabi remoulade. But excepting perhaps the nicely salty jalapeno soy, I found that the tempura fared best on their own - strong enough not to require a bath of regulating chili goo.

In addition to the cornerstone tempura, there is another line of fried goodness on the menu - Louisiana’s favorite son, the po-boy. A crab cake version with iceberg lettuce and a healthy dousing of Old Bay, a seasoning that really does make the world a better place, was bayou-lectable. Crammed between a thick white roll, and served on the same drip rack, it was certainly enough for two. And it was at this point, my fingers slicked with grease, that I became happy about a salad. In fact, I’ve never been so excited to see raw green vegetables in my life. Served in a clean white bowl at the end of the meal, a toss of arugula, watermelon, and avocado, offered among the day’s specials, had my arteries counting their blessings.

A storefront of a restaurant, fitted with both chalkboards and a shiny stainless steel bar, BarFry does give off a bit of an institutional vibe, everything done up in mental hospital white with only the slightest hints of cobalt and brown to ease the fried-lover’s mind. However, there is fun to be had in the bathrooms (see below), and the overall utilitarianism is more cozy than severe; a snug fit for the emerging Carmine Street restaurant row. And though BarFry serves up the same sort of precious modern touches as its neighbor Market Table, i.e., lemon zest shavings and cocktails with rosemary sprig swizzle sticks, there is something a whole lot heavier going down here. For after a dessert of a green tea cupcake, made of possibly the thickest, creamiest icing and densest pound cake-like base ever, I couldn’t even summon the excitement for a slate bathroom wall you could write things on with chalk. Like, Bloatation Sux. For BarFry had licked me in the end, emerging victorious with a long, puffy robe of deep-fried tempura batter rippling in its wake. Pass the antacid, I am done.

QUICK BITES

Cuisine: Japanese
Vibe: Fancy finger-lickin’.
Occasion: Your cholesterol levels are dangerously low.
Damage: $100+ for a three-course meal for two with one drink each, including tax and tip
Reservations: Not Accepted
Not to Be Missed: Crab Cake Po-Boy ($13)

50 Carmine Street
barfrynyc.com | 212-929-5050
West Village