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Hidden on a narrow West Village storefront marked only by a small teapot painted on the single‑paned window, I’m already regretting telling you about Té Company, a two‑year‑old Taiwanese tearoom whose cozy, austere interior—just a few wooden tables, a counter, and neatly aproned staff—belies what I consider one of the most exciting restaurants in New York. Service is as polished as a river stone: Alejandro Manjivar greets like a tea sommelier, flipping through a leather‑bound menu to recommend teas such as the Oriental Beauty ("super grassy, a little citrusy"), No. 2028 ("sweeter and rounder, shares a grandfather with milk oolong"), or Green Sanctuary White ("really savory, almost like an aperitif"), which are steeped in ceramic pots at carefully calibrated temperatures, decanted into little pitchers and poured into handleless cups, with timely refills that feel uncanny. The tea program is led by Elena Liao, who imports Taiwanese teas and wholesales them to restaurants, while her husband Frederico Ribeiro—formerly a sous‑chef at Per Se—usually mans the counter and cooks a tiny, outstanding menu that recently shifted from Spanish and Portuguese dishes (a custardy tortilla Española and even poached veal brain dressed in parsley) to Taiwanese pairings: glossy white rice topped with braised pork caramelized with star anise and garnished with pickled daikon, shaved scallion, cilantro, fried shallots, and an optional soy‑marinated gooey‑yolk egg; a bowl of toasted peanuts tossed with sesame, sweet Sichuan peppercorns, and dried chilies; poached octopus with melting edges and a chewy center in a fruity wild‑tea vinaigrette; crisp endive with olive oil, lime zest, shaved bottarga, and impossibly light garlic aioli; and a brilliant pineapple linzer—Ribeiro’s twist on Taiwanese pineapple cake—filled with pineapple‑rosemary jam made with yuzu kosho between flaky hazelnut shortbread, finished with lime zest and sea salt. Dishes run $5–$14. - Hannah Goldfield