Prune

I took the opportunity of a fairly early night to dine at Prune last night. For those who don't know, Prune's Gabrielle Hamilton is, by all accounts, the quintessential chef's chef. She runs the restaurant herself, chefs eat there, and it is beloved of the New York food cognisenti (see, for example, the Amateur Gourmet, who had a few of the things I had when he visited) . It also has about 24 seats. Consequently, it is effectively impossible to get into on the weekend, so we weaseled in at 9 pm last night.

Hamilton's signature is the utter simplicity of her cooking. It is almost off-putting, to tell you the truth. A dainty slab of monkfish liver (which I have never had before, and had no idea that monkfish had a liver of that size) dressed in nothing but balsamic. Enormous, langoustine sized shrimps, grilled whole, and served in nothing but an anchovy butter. Or, my girlfriend's grilled quails with raisins and escarole, which brought to mind a Jewish pasta I once learned involving schmalz, pine nuts, and raisins. As for dessert, at my first bite of the ricotta ice cream with butterscotch croutons, I thought, "Eh". At my fifth, my spoon started scrunching imperceptibly towards my girlfriend's side of the scoop. And at the end, I was scraping the plate to get the last bit of butterscotch. A truly understated, delicious, ending.

Two questions: 1) Why is it called Prune? (Aha! It was Hamilton's childhood nickname!) 2) Why, why is it so small? (Presumably to allow the chef to keep total control (she was there, after all), but wow. How do you make money in such tight confines?).