Bryant C.
Yelp
From its high walls, ornamented with billboard canvases of abstract impressionism, to the impeccable, ninja-swift service, Artmosphere has an executive-account feel.
There's a section of the menu, David's Private Stock, reserved just for power-ordering high-rollers, where a 33-ounce rib steak for $89 screams, "you must be this rich to ride this cut of beef." Fortunately, there's luxury to spare for everyone else, and exquisite food, too.
Growing up in a pork-free household has led me, as a "grownup," to pork addiction. I feel as if I need to call my sponsor when the server sets down a charcuterie plate ($25). It's a porkaholic's Christmas (believe me, it's nothing like Hanukkah) to be presented with bacon two ways: chewy, cured and smoked speck, and plump strips cooked sous vide with maple syrup and Creemore.
There are crescents of salami-like vizari next to a quenelle of clean, buttery Berkshire pork fat that I eat every lick of. Gorgeous little nuggets of pork cheek - brined, cooked, pressed, smoked, and fried - glisten with a high-fat content that grabs the light like a jewel.
The service is flawlessly attentive without being intrusive. Fresh cutlery materializes out of thin air and empty wine glasses disappear like they never existed. Talented servers read body language to maximize usefulness. When one of us leans into a dish, brow furrowed, to closely inspect a sauce, shazam, there's someone on the spot to explain it.
There's no fanfare, no circus sideshow of garnishes to distract from the four, miniature, porcelain pots de crème ($10). A divine showcase for strong, finishing flavours, each is filled with three or four spoonfuls of custard infused with a distinct, potent essence: pistachio, coconut, coffee and chocolate. If the room weren't so damn classy, we'd lick the pots clean.